


The Church Grim

by DeanDaniel



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Death, Demons, Ghosts, Hauntings, M/M, Medium/Psychic Tord, Supernatural Elements, Talks of tragedies, mountain town, there’s a plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-17
Updated: 2018-03-21
Packaged: 2019-04-03 16:42:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 22,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14000298
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeanDaniel/pseuds/DeanDaniel
Summary: There's an old Scandinavian folklore that talks about a spirit that haunts church grounds. People say that encountering one is a bad omen. Some say this spirit is a guardian, others say it's malicious. It's an angel of death, a hound of hell.People called it the Church Grim.Tord wanted to know its name.





	1. Request

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OI DANIEL WHAT THE HELL'S THIS?? WHY AREN'T YOU UPDATING REGIMEN?????
> 
> Because I'm a flake.
> 
> Kidding aside, no I'm not actually flaking on Regimen. See that story is long as all bloody hell, and actually really depressing to write sometimes. My solution was basically to work on a side story to change the mood and honestly, I never thought I'd come far in writing it. 
> 
> So this is The Church Grim.
> 
> Regimen is my BIG work, I'm still writing it but I get burn outs constantly working on it. I just got that feeling of wanting to write other TomTord stuff without it constantly only being Regimen, aaaand this is where this story came in. This one is actually significantly shorter and worlds away from what Regimen is, it's given me that break I needed in between to keep me motivated with this pair so I'm happy to work on it too. At least this way, I won't be getting disillusioned from writing the big one any time soon.
> 
> But HELL am I one masochistic bloke for subjecting myself to another multi-chapter story damn.
> 
> Oh well,,,,

_The pillar had fallen right on top of his leg._

_He barely heard the way his bones snapped and tore open skin, the roaring flames around him drowned out the wet scratching tear of flesh, his own howling screams kept him from hearing the sickening pop of a dislocated joint now jutting out from his leg. He shielded his head with his arms as the windows around him shattered from the heat, raining down jagged showers of sharp glinting glass._

_He didn’t think he could scream any louder._

_The air around him was **unbearable** to breathe, it burned his nostrils and warmed his lungs in the worst way possible, it didn’t even feel like he was breathing at all. His only working leg kicked at the fallen pillar, adrenaline dulled him from feeling the agonizing pressure on his now dead limb slowly being crushed under the weight of bloodied cement and burning wood. He clawed at the steps that led to the altar only to slip each time and hit his back against the sharp edges of the steps._

_He was trapped._

**_He was going to die._ **

**_…No_ **

**_ HE WASN’T GOING TO DIE. _ **

_Through the blurred edges of his fading vision, he watched as his hand began to draw symbols he didn’t recognize, each one a muddy shade of red on the broken floor. He didn’t even think it was_ him _moving his hand to create these unknown patterns, it felt as though something else were guiding his blood soaked fingers._

_There was one last symbol._

_He never finished it._

_The fire swirled in front of him, forming into a humanoid shape that struggled to keep itself together, some of its parts faded. It wailed and clawed at its own flesh when it formed within the fire, burning away just as quickly as it came._

_He knew him._

_He knew the man that burned._

_The man knew him too._

_He could only stay frozen where he lay dying as the burning man screamed at the sight of him, reaching out scorched and decaying hands to drag him away to a place no one returned from._

Tord bolted up from his bed in a cold sweat, his heart raced in his ribs and his palms felt clammy against his bed sheets. He ran a hand through his hair, loud gasping breaths escaping him without any sign of stopping. He blinked rapidly, trying to integrate his mind back into reality. Wide eyes looked around his darkened room, searching for the phantom images of the thing that haunted his thoughts.

The man that burned.

He’d been dreaming about him a lot lately.

Tord blew out a tired breath, he turned to the side to peer at his digital alarm clock, sighing when he saw that it was only two in the morning.

His white knuckled grip on his sheets loosened.

Tord swung his legs off his bed and slowly approached a far corner, dragging his comforter with him. He barely made a sound as he walked and sat down with his back facing the walls, he wrapped his blanket around him and pulled his knees up to his chest. He looked back up at his room, with tired half-lidded eyes, before he rested his head against his knees and curled in on himself tighter. 

He should try to get some sleep.

He had something to do tomorrow.

When three a.m. came around, Tord ignored the quiet knocks on his bedroom door.

Like he always did.

 

* * *

 

 

Looking up at the rusted gates, Tord wondered why he ever even thought to take this stupid request.

It was things like this that gave him reason to always stay within the safety of his own house.

The ground beneath his feet crunched quietly as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the sound was a welcome respite between the long stretched out dead silence around him. Try as he might, Tord couldn’t help but be unnerved by it, just moments before he’d been surrounded by the sound of a busy town behind him, but the moment he stepped into the area everything stopped.

No sound.

Complete and utter silence save for his own footsteps and breathing.

Not even the wind whistled in his ears.

The Norski squinted his eyes at the gate before him, noting how it looked a breath away from falling apart. Tord stepped forward and gave the gate a light shake, jumping when the structure screeched and groaned louder than he thought it would.

Immediately, he drew his hand back and took two steps away from the gate to glance around him. He shook off the rust from his hand and placed it on top of his heart, feeling it rapidly beat against his chest as he looked for something that wasn’t even there.

Tord stood in the same spot for a long time, clenching and unclenching a hand at his side as he tried to rationalize with himself once more _‘Don’t be an idiot’_ He told himself as he inhaled deeply and stuffed his twitching hand into the pocket of his hoodie, though his other one stayed firmly on top of his chest. Thinning his lips, he approached the gate once more _‘Nothing will come if we’re quick, just hop in and take the damn photo. In and out, easy’._  

Despite reassuring himself, Tord’s hand stopped before it made contact with the gate again, just a mere inch away from touch. He stared down at the rusted bars and swallowed as they seemed to stretch further away from his hand. 

The gate will make too much noise….

The silence pounded against his ears, daring him to disrupt it again.

Tord carefully gripped one of the gate’s bars and immediately felt a chill down his spine when the gate creaked.

The silence broke.

Someone was staring.

Tord inhaled shakily as he hastily took his hand back and moved away from the gate again. His heart pounded in his ears as he tried to shake off the cold feeling that settled in his chest. He grimaced and rubbed a hand against the side of his face in frustration _‘Come on Tord, get a hold of yourself’_ He gruffly sighed as he forced himself to look back at the entrance again _‘There’s no turning back at this point Larsin, we already took the job’._

Though he didn’t dare try for the gate again, not when the silence had settled back into place.

Tord looked around the entrance for some other way in, the gate was the only one made of iron around here, walls made of white stone encircled the area within it, they weren’t too terribly high up, the gate was somewhat taller than it even.

Stepping to the side, Tord scrutinized the crumbling wall. There were only a number of footholds available for him to make use of but he could make due. If he was careful, he was sure to make as little noise as possible as he climbed as well. Though looking closer at the bricks, he worried about breaking it on accident.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end at the thought _‘Don’t break anything’_ His mind repeatedly reminded him as he began his climb, he had a feeling that should anything go out of place with his meddling, he was going to pay a price he didn’t think he was ready to pay.

Slipping only once as he climbed, Tord made a jump for the top. He grunted as he pulled himself up the wall, arms shaking with the struggle of pulling his own weight. Once he was on stable ground, Tord quickly pushed himself off to the other side, lest he get any second thoughts if he gave himself time to think about what the hell he was doing.

He landed on the ground with a thud, kicking up dirt as he did so. Tord straightened himself back up and dusted his pants. He coughed into his fist as he looked around him, for the first time seeing what laid beyond the iron wrought gate.

The old graveyard greeted him with a quite hello in the form of a gentle breeze.

Unlike when he was standing outside, Tord didn’t feel that sense of unease, as odd as that was for him. Actually being inside the old graveyard felt….he wasn’t sure what it really felt like. The graveyard itself felt like it was lost somehow, almost as though it would float away if he turned back or closed his eyes. That his being here somehow made it real again, like it was waiting for someone to see that it was still here.

The graveyard felt…lonely.

Despite his past grievances, he felt a spike of pain clench his heart.

Tord began to walk towards the graveyard, each step echoed and twirled between the spaces. He passed by a few rotting tombstones, every single one was already in some form of decay or broken down entirely. Some had moss sprouting on top of them, though it was probably due to the moist that came from the fogs that often rolled through the hill. There was also an overgrowth of grass wherever he went, sometimes he had to push them aside just to get through.

Oddly enough, there was a path that hadn’t been taken over by nature, even if it was obvious that no one had travelled on this path for years now. Though he supposed that it was too beaten down for anything to properly grow on it save for a few stubborn patches of grass that clung to its edges.

Tord cut himself off mid yell when his shoelace got caught between some stones, causing him to trip and fall to one knee. The Norski grumbled unhappily as he pulled the aglet from the accidental trap, he sighed and began to tie his shoe back up, wondering how the hell he ended up here.

Oh right, the client.

Now Tord doesn’t usually take many requests like this, seeing as he’d purposely buried any trace of his mother’s old line of work where no one would find it. So it was quite a shock when one day someone called his house and asked whether or not this was the right number for ‘the lady who could see ghosts’.

Tord had fumed at that, growling at the person on the other line to ‘never call this damn number ever again’ thinking it was someone who just wanted to scorn his mother as others have done before, but the man quickly amended and said he was genuinely looking for her help. 

His request had…intrigued Tord, especially when he recounted a story he was _very_ familiar with.

His mother told him the exact same story when he was younger, albeit the man’s version lacked a few details.

Up in a hill, where the sun never seemed to break through the clouds, stood a lonely church that had a graveyard as its only companion. Years ago, the church had suddenly burned without rhyme or reason, trapping the clergy that once took great care of it in red roaring hellfire, though strangely enough none of them emerged from their rooms to flee to safety, they had locked their doors and stayed in their beds until the fire consumed them.

One priest, who foresaw his death and feared it, bound his very soul to the walls of the church, but had done so through evil means. People say they heard him cry out obscenities and curses before he died, spewing madness that no one could understand.

Sometimes, in a window at the second floor, a lone candle will flicker to life. The warning is that you should never look at the window if it does happen. If you do, the eyes of the old priest would stare back at you before the church doors would suddenly burst open. The candle will die, and the priest would disappear.

Where the old priest would go will depend on how fast you run out of the graveyard.

The client’s request was, to put it simply, try to capture a photo of the old priest. The man didn’t give him a reason as to why, just implied that it was important for him to know if the priest was real.

Tord had contemplated the request, when he was younger his mother often warned him with that story, as one thing the man didn’t seem to know- or maybe he forgot to mention it- was that the church in the story was located on the hill beside _his_ town.

He’d always wanted an excuse to go up the hill. He couldn’t explain why, he just _had_ to, even if his mother spent the most of his childhood keeping him away from it.

Though her warnings still hung at the back of his mind, growing up he learned not to take them lightly, which is why felt like a giant idiot for even doing this.

Part of him was still suspicious about the client, how could someone even know the number of his house? Though part of him reasoned that the man may have been an old client, or maybe someone who’d heard of his mother back then. Mrs. Larsin never really had any sense of shame when she advertised her line of work to anyone who would listen.

Still….it was pretty suspicious but Tord didn’t really have the time to dwell on it.

To be honest, later on in life he believed that his mother was just making up stories about the church just to keep him from playing in the woods as a child. After all, most people who lived in their town was aware of its existence, what happened to it was a tragedy for sure, the part where it burned was real but most of the townspeople said it was an accident.

At least, that’s what they told the kids.

When he drove up to the area and made a hike to the top, he couldn’t help but be nervous about actually seeing the old church for the first time.

The surreal, uneasy emotion he felt at seeing his childhood ghost story come to life never really left him. Even when he felt that saddening calmness of the graveyard, the worried pit in his stomach twisted. 

Pushing past the last of the grass, Tord stumbled into a dead clearing. He instantly became chilled to his bones, enough that he rubbed at his arms just to regain the heat he lost. Tord subconsciously curled in on himself as he looked at the dead land that surrounded the old church, it spread from the center and stopped abruptly where the grass grew. The ground was ashen and full of soot.

The church itself was blackened and broken down. Wooden pillars hung by a thread in what used to be the support for the ceilings, the structure groaned against the wind, making odd crackling and popping noises as it tried to settle and keep from falling in on itself. Broken glass from windows littered the ground, twinkling underneath the ash.

 _‘Years ago, the church had suddenly burned without rhyme or reason….’_ Tord felt the blood drain from his face when his mind supplied the story he’d heard from his mother a thousand times. He could admit to himself that being in the place he was afraid of as a child was unnerving. 

 _‘Oh come on! Let’s just get this over with!’_ Steeling his nerves with a slow exhale, Tord reached for his phone and pointed the camera towards the decrepit, scorched church. Before he pressed the button to take a picture however, Tord froze on the spot when his eyes caught something through the lens.

The candle on the window.

Tord felt his heart jump as all of his mother’s warnings began to swirl violently through his head. The candle looked unnatural amongst the blackened walls and broken windows. Everything within and outside the church was burned or broken, but the candle looked immaculate and untouched, white against the dark walls behind it.

It shouldn’t be there.

The shadows twisted.

Tord inhaled sharply as his mind played tricks on him through his fear. He didn’t notice the tombstone behind him as he stumbled backwards with a yell followed by the sound of stone breaking. Tord had the wind knocked from his lungs as he fell on his back, he groaned and pushed himself back up before he noticed the broken tombstone at his feet.

The church doors burst open.

Tord’s breath caught the second time as he scrambled to push himself back up on his feet. His heart beat wild in his chest as his eyes darted back up to the candle on the window, didn’t light up did it?! What-

Growling interrupted his thoughts as something black darted out from within the church. Tord felt himself move backwards as his fear addled brain finally came back to reality for him to notice that there was indeed something else there with him but it surely wasn’t some old priest’s ghost.

It was a black dog.

It was snarling at him, bearing its teeth in agitation.

The Norski wheezed when his lungs suddenly felt heavy in his chest, his eyes burned with hot white pain as the image of the dog blurred and spasmed out of focus, leaving only a wispy black shadow in its place. A stabbing sensation against his temples had Tord nearly hunch over from the sheer force of it, the Norwegian’s eyes watered but he dared not close them when he realized he was dealing with something he wasn’t prepared to face.

Tord stumbled backwards as fast as he could, his foot nearly slipped as a piece of the tombstone rolled out from underneath him.

The dog barked, a loud and grating sound, and began to run towards him.

Tord quickly turned tail and sprinted through the graveyard as fast as he could. He’d been at a small distance away from the church entrance so it gave him a bit of time to make his escape, he dared not to look behind him as the growls and barks seemed to come closer with each of his bounding steps.

His breath started to come out in short gasps as he vaulted over a few of the tombstones and blindly dashed his way through the tall grass. His legs were screaming at him but he could already hear how close the dog was, by the sound of it if he let that thing get him, there was a possibility that he’d lose a limb or two trying to fight it off. 

The entrance soon came into view, but even from this distance, Tord knew that climbing would take him too long considering that he’d have to find the right footholds again. It only left the gate which had but a small gap from when he tried to open it the first time.

Making up his mind, Tord hurried his steps and zeroed in on the gate. As soon as he could reach it, his hands wrenched it open as quick as he could, he yelled as the gate fought against his actions, screeching and groaning as it was forced open for the first time in years.

His hands were straining with the effort but the moment a small enough space for him to get through opened, Tord hastily squeezed himself through and pulled the gate closed behind him. He braced for impact as he heard the dog growl loud behind him and see it jump to get him, mouth wide open to latch on to flesh. 

The gate stayed still.

Tord opened his eyes in confusion, the dog should have collided with the gate. He turned himself around and was greeted with the empty graveyard once more, no sign of the dog that had been chasing him at all. Peering in through the spaces, Tord couldn’t see anything other than the grass and broken tombstones. Listening in, even though his ragged breathing, Tord couldn’t hear the telltale signs of a dog trotting away from the gate.

It was silent.

Nothing.

There wasn’t anything there.

Tord backed away from the gate, he knew he failed his task but this whole situation was starting to freak him out. A hand reached up to his face when he felt something trickle down to his lips, his fingers came away wet.

Blood.

With one last look at the church, Tord turned away and sprinted down the path that led to the bottom of the hill where his car was waiting for him.

The feeling of eyes on his back followed him until he drove away from the hill.

 

* * *

 

 

“So…let me get this straight” Paul hummed on the phone as Tord set his dirty hoodie on the armrest of his chair, sinking into it the Norwegian sighed as he prepared to get berated “You took a request, a _request_ , from some shady nameless guy who happened to know your house number, to take a picture of some dead guy in some weird old moldy church that your own _mother_ warned you not to go to????” Paul’s voice pitched as he continued on, distressed at his own recounting “Did I miss something? How about the part where the guy admitted to being a murderer??”

“I mean, in my defense, the guy wasn’t actually a murderer. Plus, there’s _no way_ a guy that says ‘Yay! Thank youuu!’ over the phone could actually have the guts to kill someone”

“ _Still!_ The whole thing sounded like the start of a B-rated slasher film!” Paul sighed “One more thing I can’t believe is that you _actually_ took a request! I thought you said that you weren’t interested in continuing your mom’s work?”

“I’m still not” Tord frowned, rubbing at his face when Paul only made a noncommittal sound to his reply “Really, _I’m not._ It was just surprising to hear the same story my mom used to tell me, I’ve always thought she made that up but I guess not”

“So you actually found it? The church I mean”

Tord thinned his lips. He thought back to the silent graveyard, the scorched church, the disappearing dog. He thought about the sensation of his chest getting crushed just by being close to the area, how he felt nauseous breathing in the air.

The eyes on his back.

“Yeah…it was weird being there” Some part of him hesitated to tell Paul about everything that happened in detail, not that he had any plans to. He’d always been uncomfortable about talking to other people about…those things. He only ever talked to his mother about them.

“Did you, yanno, _feel_ something? Like an energy or whatever it is you call them?”

“The fuck? Don’t say it like that asshole” Tord felt his face burn in embarrassment as Paul chuckled on the other end. It wasn’t really his friend’s fault, it’s just that…it’s really hard to forget all the taunts and jeers he’d heard growing up.

No one wants to be near a freak.

“Okay, sorry, I didn’t mean to say it like that” Paul quickly corrected “You know what I mean though. I mean yeah, heck, I have my doubts at times but I’m not one of those people that just shakes off the possibility. Anyway, I’ve been around you long enough to accept that maybe there’s something out there I don’t quite understand yet” Paul made a shuddering sound, Tord imagined he was shaking his head “Fuck man…that whole shoe incident really fucked me up”

It was Tord’s turn to laugh this time, yes he remembered that little debacle well. It was the very first time that both Paul and Patryck had a glimpse of the world Tord lived in, when somehow Patryck had gotten targeted by a slightly malicious spirit after he came home with loaner sneakers while his own shoes were getting repaired.

Paul had laughed at the pink glittery shoes up until a grey sneaker suddenly appeared and tackled Patryck’s face, meaning to suffocate him. They called Tord over in a panic and that was how the Norwegian came across the two of them cowering behind their couch barricade while the grey sneaker hummed ominously in front of them.

Needless to day, they don’t really laugh when Tord tells them to only take certain routes going home or remember to say ‘excuse me’ when passing certain houses.

“Yeah I get what you’re trying to say” Tord cut in when Paul seemed to be on the verge of panic ranting about the shoe again, something he hadn’t quite let go of even if it’s been years since then “About the church, I don’t know, I didn’t get close enough to tell, but there’s this really…weird feeling I got when I passed through the graveyard” The Norwegian sucked in a breath through his teeth “It just felt different from the church area I guess”

“I mean, I don’t really know what to tell you either” Paul mumbled “I’m not like you or your mom so I can’t really give you anything useful. Anyway, why’d you decide to call me first? You could’ve asked your mom about this”

“I know, but she’d kill me if she found out I actually _went_ there” Tord grimaced, he knew he’d _have_ to tell her, Mrs. Larsin always somehow knew if he meddled with something he shouldn’t mess with. It would be better if he told her first rather than her finding out somehow “She always told me not to go there and you know how seriously she takes warnings. Besides, I needed to let this out first without getting lectured to death. The place kinda…freaked me out" 

Paul was quiet for a moment, then he sighed “Okay, I get it. Besides, you don’t _have_ to go back there to complete the request. If you really feel like its giving you bad vibes you don’t have to force yourself, just tell the client or whatever that you have to decline and if he pisses on you for it, just hang up on the guy” 

“That’s what I was thinking about doing anyway, at least after I talk to my mom” Little did Paul know, Tord wasn’t completely set on dropping the request. Obviously not because he cared about some stranger’s closure, but because of what had happened when he was there.

He just…couldn’t shake off the feeling that there was something he needed to do. There was something _pulling_ him towards that place, now that he’s seen it with his own two eyes there was just this _feeling_ that there was something he _needed_ to know.

Especially after seeing that dog.

 Tord sighed quietly as he closed his eyes.

_What was that thing?_

“Well, I guess I should let you go now, I really don’t know what else to tell you about all this ghosty business happening” Paul chuckled, unaware of the inner turmoil Tord was facing “Anyway, Pat and I are supposed to go out tonight and you know how he gets when I’m late”

“Yeah yeah, but one more thing though?” Tord reached for the notepad on the desk beside his armchair as he heard Paul hum in question, he scanned through the writing on the paper “I’m gonna send you some stuff the client gave me, obviously I don’t think this is his actual personal data but if you could…?”

“Dig around and see who mystery guy is? No big deal _but_ you’re going to owe me lunch for sending me work when I’m supposed to have a fun night out with my boyfriend”

“Yeah yeah whatever, go be gay. Just update me if you actually find anything”

The last thing Tord heard before Paul hung up on him was the man quietly mocking him under his breath before he scoffed and ended the call with a half-hearted ‘Sure’. Tord shook his head with a smile and weighed the phone in his hands, his thoughts shifting over to the other person he had to call.

The Norwegian leaned forward on his chair and held his phone in his hands. He sat in silence, just staring down at his phone. Gripping the cellphone, he made up his mind and set it down on the side table where his home phone sat collecting dust.

There really wasn’t anyone else he could talk to about this.

He dialed a number on the home phone and waited for the other person on the line to pick up, it rang three times before someone came to answer “Hallo?”

“Mamma” He greeted with a smile, despite knowing the woman wouldn’t see it. His mom was pretty old fashioned, she didn’t own a cellphone and often times he had to use the home phone just to talk to her. It’s been a year since his mom decided to move away from their town, she didn’t give him much explanation even when he asked, they were doing well but suddenly she just decided that the town wasn’t for her. Tord didn’t stop her, and she left him the house.

“To-to! My boy I’m so happy to hear from you! How have you been? Have you eaten yet?” He laughed awkwardly at her use of the nickname she gave him as a child. He was nearly thrown for a loop at hearing it again, it’s been a while since she used it.

“Ah I’m fine Mamma, yes I’ve eaten and no it wasn’t junk food. Paul helped me cook today”

His mother’s soft laughter was such a contrast to Paul’s rough guffawing from earlier, he felt his chest warm at the sound of it. Leave it to her to make him calm without her knowing it “Ah he’s such a sweet boy, I’m glad you have good friends To-to. I would have worried myself sick over you if you hadn’t someone to care for you” 

“Mamma” Tord sighed in exasperation as his mother giggled.

“Oh you know I only tease sweetie, I know you can take care of yourself as well” Mrs. Larsin sighed before she cleared her throat “Now, why did you call me dear? I know you tend to only call me if you want something these days”

“That’s not true” Tord tried to deflect with a frown, was everyone trying to guilt trip him today? Still, his mother wasn’t wrong…but he wasn’t sure how to bring it up with her.

She warned him so many times as a child after all to not go anywhere near the church on the hill. Looking back on it now, he noticed how weary she was of the place as well, she always looked out their window with a worried look on her face, staring at the top of the hill with what seemed like fear.

“Mamma…do you remember those stories you used to tell me when I was younger? About that old church on the hill?”

It was quiet for a while, at some point Tord had thought that they lost connection somehow, but his mother’s shaky voice suddenly came back on after a sharp inhale “Why are you bringing that up now sweetie? I had thought you’d grown out of my scary stories” When Tord hesitated, his mother let out a gasp “You didn’t go up there did you?”

“Uhm”

“ _Tord Larsin!_ ” At the almost panicked shriek of his full name, Tord sat up straight on his chair as if he were being scolded right then and there by his distraught mother “I thought I told you to never _ever_ go to that place! Sweetie why would you even think of going there? It’s-“ The word his mother was supposed to say was cut off before it slipped past her lips, she sighed “…it’s no place for any young man to go into, not to mention _disrespectful!_ ” Tord winced at her tone, he’d expected this but not to this extent. She really did sound troubled.

“There was a client!” Tord sputtered out before he realized it, a subconscious part of him was aware that if he didn’t start talking, his mother would just scold his ear off without giving him a chance to defend himself “He was asking about the old church, I just thought it was weird that he knew the same story you told me. I know you always told me to stay away but….”

He didn’t know how to tell her; he didn’t really want to. How he was intrigued by the request, how he felt that pull the closer he got to the hill.

He told her about that feeling once, when he was a child. Mrs. Larsin cried for a whole day when he did, and that was also when she started to tell him the story of the old church in the hill.

Tord fidgeted when his mother remained quiet, he continued to talk, if only to fill in the silence “I..I think I found something there. It was a dog” He still got headaches when he tried to think back to when he first encountered the creature, he was afraid that he’d get dizzy again so he tried not to think too hard about it “I don’t really think it was a normal dog, it didn’t feel like it. I know most strays are dangerous but this one felt…well, it felt dangerous but there was something _else_ ”

“Oh Tord….” His mother whispered, almost in despair “You shouldn’t have gone up that hill” Another pause but this one didn’t last as long as the last, his mother sighed “Well, you’re old enough now, and if you were able to see that spirit then it only means that your talent is getting stronger”

“Mamma…” Tord shifted uncomfortably in his seat, a latent shame he’d once constantly felt as a child resurfacing at his mother’s mention of their ‘talent’.

“Alright alright, I get it sweetie, no talent. Forget I said anything” His mother sounded sad, she always did when he reacted like that, but he tried not to think about it as she continued talking “What you encountered was a spirit that….well, they’re the spirits in charge of protecting burial sites from people who wish them harm. Encounters with them never end well, you should count yourself lucky for being able to escape one”

“I guess....it was pretty aggressive when it saw me” Tord chuckled quietly “And I don’t think they carry rabies shots for demon dogs”

“It was aggressive?” Mrs. Larsin asked, surprised.

Tord furrowed his eyebrows together at the tone of her voice “Erm, yeah, it tried to bite me. Is that bad?”

“Sweetie it shouldn’t be aggressive towards you at all because-“ Mrs. Larsin cleared her throat, a small lapse of silence passed between them. Tord worried his lower lip at her sudden disability to complete sentences, she only got like that when she was hesitant. His mother _isn’t_ a hesitant person. He couldn’t say anything about it though, Mrs. Larsin just continued talking as if her silence never happened “..because those kinds of spirits _aren’t_ usually aggressive. It’s a protector, it should be given a reason to become as hostile as you said it was..but why would it attack _you_ ….” The last part was mumbled.

Tord sucked in a breath when his memory supplied him an answer, he swallowed around the lump in his throat, his mother will _not_ like this “Erm, I may have…. accidentally destroyed a tombstone mamma…”

 _“WHAT?!”_ Tord leaned away from the phone once his mother began to shout in rapid Norwegian. It took a while for the woman to calm down but she sounded even more distressed than she was at the beginning “ _Tord!_ You have to make this right! Go back up there and make amends with the spirit _and_ that poor soul whose grave you desecrated!!”

“What?! But-!”

“Listen to your mother Tord!” That immediately had him clamp his mouth shut, god he felt like a child again being berated for doing something he shouldn’t have. He supposed that if he’d done this as a child he’d still get the same treatment he received now “Upsetting that spirit will surely bring you misfortune!! I don’t want anything bad happening to you sweetie, so _please_ try to make amends!”

“…I don’t like how it feels” Tord muttered quietly into the phone as he fingered his hoodie collar, traces of soot from when he fell still clung onto the fabric “Mamma, that place felt…different, cold. It made me feel..”

“…sad?” Tord nodded numbly, not realizing that his mother wouldn’t see it. He opted to give her a quiet hum instead. His mother sighed again “Honey, I know you might not like how it feels but if there’s any other way to avoid misfortune I would have told you. For now, this is all you can do”

They talked for a little while after that, Tord’s mother even gave him a few instructions to help him appease the spirit of the church grounds, some of which Tord was horrified to hear but she insisted had to be done. By the time his mother let him go, night had already fallen. Tord stood up from the chair and walked to the closest window at his side. Drawing a curtain back, he was greeted by the looming presence of the hill just a short distance away from his home. If he looked closer, he could have sworn he saw the faintest glimmer of light at the top of the hill.

Candlelight.

Tord blinked a few times with a shake of his head, he looked back at the hill and found nothing there.

Between the two of them, his mother had always been the superstitious one. She followed the rules of an unknown world, warning him to do the same. He grew up hearing her cautionary tales of otherworldly folk, night creatures, misfortune and fortune, and everything he must do to ensure that he won’t get tangled up in their business.

He used to think she took it too far at times.

..but….

When Tord looked back at the hill, the faintest flicker of light shone through the inky darkness around it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some context on this story though. See growing up, I was brought up with the knowledge that half of my family is cursed. My father's side to be specific. 
> 
> Honestly I don't believe it myself but my father's family has too many accounts of experiences with the dead, even my grandparents have their stories. My own brothers and I have also experienced a few little odd things here and there. I just thought that idea of a family tied in with the supernatural sounded like a real blast of a story, and haha this fic was born.


	2. The Grim

“Wait you’re doing what?!”

“Like I said, I’m going back up the hill again to appease the church spirit there or something” Tord winced the moment the explanation came out his mouth, even saying that out loud made him feel awkward. It was like an admission to how far his belief in this kind of stuff stretched, he didn’t particularly like the implications of it. Honestly it made him feel pretty embarrassed. 

“If this is about that photo thing I already told you that you shouldn’t force yourself!” Paul continued through the phone he trapped between his ear and shoulder as he checked the stuff he brought with him again “Do you know what would happen if Pat found out and something happened to you? Man he would _kill_ me!!” 

“Don’t assume that everything is about you” Tord held on to his phone again after he was sure that he had everything his mother said he needed. Hiking up with items this time wasn’t exactly all that easy, especially since the path went up a steep incline “I told my mother about what happened, unsurprisingly she was upset with what I did and told me to go back because I might have offended something there” He frowned as his eyes wandered downwards to the beaten up road.

“Hell, maybe you could _not_ do it you know? And just tell her that you did??”

Tord stopped walking at the suggestion. Well of course! One of the only reasons why he was doing this was to give his mother peace of mind, even he thought it was a little silly that he was trying to do this.

He looked back at the road, the way it suddenly changed and was nearly overrun by wild grass, evidence of a lack of people passing through. Even the air seemed to change, growing thicker the deeper he went in.

The sound of his town became distant behind him, the dead silence waited.

 

…..

 

Tord continued walking.

“Do you know what you’re talking about? As if that would be enough, somehow she always knows if I did something or not” Tord kept his voice light and steady even as he was suddenly cut off from the sounds of the town and surrounded by the eerie hum of overwhelming silence. It was jarring the first time, like a plug had suddenly been pulled or he’d passed through a thick curtain, and it was still jarring even now. 

Tord glanced back once and found the path he travelled slowly being covered by a low fog. He breathed in quietly through his mouth.

Should he really be doing this?

“Right, yeah, psychic mom” Paul’s voice broke through the haze and snapped him back into reality “But I’m _still_ a little worried. I mean come on, you said that place gave off bad vibes right? What if I go there? At least you won’t be alone”

That thought made him uneasy, when he was there alone it already felt like he was violating some unseen law. Whoever- _Whatever_ it was he felt was there seriously didn’t want anyone else coming in, one person was bad enough as it is.

He wasn’t about to risk his friends just because he felt afraid.

“No, Paul, no okay? There’s a reason why I haven’t told you where the church is. This isn’t like that shoe that tried to kill you, at least that was easy to handle, even you could have made it go away with a bit of effort” Tord looked around the darkening path, his skin was starting to prickle with the sensation of needles poking through. He swallowed hard “This one? I wouldn’t bring you over here using a ten-foot pole”

Before Paul could answer, Tord increased the volume of his phone when he felt the silence begin to press down on him, it got colder the more he grew close to the old church’s area. A single bout of hesitation was surely going to be his downfall at this point, he tried his absolute best to ignore the red flags that waved in his head the closer he got to the graveyard gates. Even the blades of grass around his feet seemed to wrap around his ankles, pleading with him to go no further.

“You’re not really doing a very good job of convincing me that I should stay here and let you go marching off with a death wish” Paul’s voice shook as he spoke, Tord hated that he made his friend worry like this. Maybe he shouldn’t have called, but he didn’t think he could stand the silence as he walked up the hill “Tord _please_ just go back, I’m not comfortable with you doing this” 

Paul’s plea couldn’t have come any later.

He was already there.

Tord stopped just a few feet away from the gate, unlike a few days ago the wind picked up and swirled the stray leaves around him. It was enough to rattle the rusted gates before him, it whined and groaned, almost as though it was displeased with his return. There was a patch on the red bars that looked suspiciously clean, Tord recognized it as the bar he held on to as he pried the gate open trying to escape.

The old gate groaned.

Something moved in the grass.

“Sorry” Tord mumbled, unable to raise his voice at the feeling of another presence with him “Gotta go, bye” He clicked his phone off before Paul would try to extend their conversation any further.

The grass continued to shift.

Tord heard growling.

Stepping out from the tall grass, a large black dog slowly prowled forward. Tord subconsciously took a step back at the sight of the thing. Even on just its four legs the dog’s head could already reach his own without lifting it. It growled low as it approached the gate but didn’t come all the way forward, but it was clear that it had its sights set on Tord as it began to pace.

Because of the high walls, Tord couldn’t completely keep track of the animal, it would disappear behind the walls only to reappear behind the gate to snarl at him. Tord could only stay where he was as he watched the ferocious animal look for a way to get him. 

For a dog all on its own in the middle of nowhere, it didn’t look the least bit malnourished or sickly. Which shouldn’t be the case since the church grounds were barred with no other entrance or exit save for the old gates, at least Tord _hoped_ there were no other ways in, if that.. _thing_ somehow found its way outside…

Looking back at the dog when it reappeared, Tord started to believe that it wasn’t in any immediate trouble of starvation. Wispy afterimages trailed behind the creature as it paced, staying behind like the floaters of a camera flash before disappearing on the second blink. The creature’s eyes however were the ones that Tord noticed the most. Black voids that had his image reflected in them, he swore that under the light they sometimes flashed red.

 The Norski steadied himself with a deep inhale, trying to shake off the creeping dizziness, and took two steps forward. The dog stiffened and stopped pacing as he approached, it snarled louder.

The only thing that separated them was the gate.

The breeze threatened to make it sway.

“I..” Tord remembered his mother’s words even as the feeling of a cold tendril wrapped around his heart being so close to the creature. Every fiber of his being screamed at him to get away, whatever this thing was it was _wrong and he **shouldn’t** be here. _He swallowed his fears and clenched his hands into fists at his sides.

 

_‘Remember, be firm and confident. The words of a coward mean nothing to these beings’_

“I’ve come to make amends” Tord said as steadily as he could with just as much feeling. The words made the creature before him pause, the bared teeth finally disappeared but the low growling remained. The dog stood rigid in its place, watching him with the same serious contempt as when they first locked eyes.

“I’m here to offer an apology for my wrongdoing” Tord kept eye contact with the creature as he reached into the bag he brought with him, the dog snarled at the movement of his hand so Tord slowed himself until he pulled out what his mother told him to bring. He tried not to scrunch his nose up in disgust at the wet fleshy feeling in his hand, cold blood ran down his fingers as he showed the creature what he’d brought.

 

_‘Take a lamb and have it killed, but its heart should not touch the ground even once’_

The dog lifted its head up curiously, eyeing the heart in his hand with what appeared to be interest. Tord slowly approached the gate “I extend my apologies to the soul whose rest I disturbed” Tord paused, that was the last set of words his mother told him to say, he knew he might not need to do this but he felt that he should “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause you trouble. I wasn’t trying to harm this place” He knelt down and placed the heart close to the gate and bowed his head, not daring to look up “I’m sorry for disturbing your peace”

It was quiet, then the feeling of breath close to his hair made Tord lock up from where he knelt. He knew for certain if he looked up, the dog would be directly in front of him, its nose slipping through the space between the bars.

_“…don’t come back”_

Tord’s eyes widened at the whispery voice directly above his head. Against his better judgment, he looked up but was greeted by the empty graveyard, the grass swayed with the wind. 

The Norski stood back up in mild alarm, glancing back down he sucked in a breath at the area where the lamb’s heart was supposed to be, instead a red patch of earth was the only clue that it was ever even there. The drying blood around his fingers reminded him that he held that heart not moments ago.

Tord backed away from the gates, holding his bloodied hand he hastily ran down the path again, the churchyard behind him slowly disappeared behind the fog.

_‘…don’t come back’_

That voice, no matter how weak and small it sounded, stuck in his mind for the rest of the day. Up until it became a minor irritation in his thoughts.

 

* * *

 

 

“So this woman comes in, y’know, tight dress and swaying hips and she catches sight of Paul being pathetic near the bar” 

“Pat I was _not!!"_  

“He was _the_ perfect picture of some lonely guy with no one to come home to, so of course he’s like the perfect prey for her!” Pat chuckled as Paul groaned beside him, covering his face with his hands as he suffered through listening to the story “She comes in, y’know, does her magic and bats her eyes but this poor man beside me has zero clue on how to interact with _any_ girl, gay or straight”

“Paaat! _Please don’t tell him!!”_ Paul hit his partner’s arm multiple times as Pat ignored him and continued on with the story. A dust of pink coloured the bushy browed man’s face.

“I kid you not, after she was done flirting and trying to get a rise out of him, Paul stands up, looks her dead in the eyes, doesn’t say anything then out of nowhere says ‘Cool boobs’ pats one, _gave her a thumbs up_ , then RAN away!! And I saw _everything!!”_ Pat was barely able to keep himself from laughing through finishing the whole story, now that he was done he burst into loud laughter at the expense of his partner who was trying to emulate a threatened tortoise beside him.

“ _Damn it Pat!!_ You _promised_ me we wouldn’t talk about that!!” Paul’s muffled voice nearly whined from inside his sweater as he backed himself into the corner of their chosen booth, afraid that the other diner goers overheard the story and would be staring by now.

“You sweet innocent gay man, you should never try being straight ever again” Pat leaned over and pecked a kiss against the top of Paul’s head, which was the only thing to be seen of the other man at this point. Paul whimpered pitifully within his article of clothing and refused to come out even with Pat coaxing him.

Pat huffed out a laugh “You should _really_ come hang out with us again, at least that way you wouldn’t miss those precious moments of Paul embarrassing himself. So what do you say? Up for a boys night out Tord?....uh, Tord??”

Jolting at the sound of his name, Tord looked up from his phone and stared wide eyed at his two friends who were looking back at him with an equal amount of concern, he pocketed his phone and cleared his throat “I..yeah sure, whatever”

“You didn’t hear what I just said did you?” Pat crossed his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow at him accusingly, he confirmed his suspicions when Tord looked away from him in shame. Leaning back against the couch he glanced at the two other people with him “Alright, spill, you’ve been acting really weird lately. Hell, you even agreed to come out with us today, is there something going on?”

“Wait, this isn’t about the…thing is it?” Tord gave Paul a pointed look for alluding to their previous little agreement with each other to not openly talk about the old church. _Idiot!_ As if Pat wasn’t going to be able to see through that euphemism!

As expected, Patryck narrowed his eyes at the both of them upon hearing Paul’s half-assed attempt to mask the topic “ _What_ are you two talking about??” Paul shrunk in his seat beside him. 

“Hey don’t look at me!! Tord said he wouldn’t go back to the church!” 

“ _Paul!”_

 _“What_ church?! Damn it you two stop talking around whatever this is and just tell me!” Pat’s eyebrows furrowed in frustration “You’re just making me even more worried!”

Paul and Tord shared a look across the table. They both knew that a worried Pat would not end well for either of them, if he didn’t get any answers there was a real possibility that he’d just go around digging for it himself. Neither of them wanted that to happen.

Paul, because he didn’t want Pat to be dabbling in things he doesn’t understand,

Tord, because he _knew_ about the things they can’t understand.

“There was a client” The Norwegian began carefully as Pat turned his worried look towards him “He was asking about this old church my mom used to tell me stories about. The rundown is that he wanted photographic evidence of the thing that haunted it. I went there and, well, _things_ happened”

“I _swear_ I tried to talk him out of it!” Paul cut in, waving his hands in front of him as if he were trying to dissolve Pat’s growing worry. The other man started to look pale, no doubt flashes of the possessed shoe that tried to kill him zooming through his thoughts “Pat I wouldn’t have allowed him to go if I’d known! But he did and I-“

“Is that why you were all nervous and jittery a few days ago?” Patryck said, speaking for the first time since Tord started talking. Paul clamped his mouth shut and nodded mutely, only wincing when Patryck pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed “And you” Pat pointed at Tord, still rubbing at his eyelids in evident stress “I know Paul called you twice this week, so does that mean you went to that- that _haunted_ church twice??”

“I- um- well technically!” Tord said with his hands raised after Patryck looked up at him with disapproval in his eyes “But I didn’t go in the second time, I stayed outside and did the thing my mom told me to do because she thinks I could’ve gotten cursed for offending whatever it was”

“So are you? Do you, y’know, _feel_ something??” Tord winced at the question. Although he was still uncomfortable about what it implied his mom never shied away from this label. For a while she even made a living off of it and that was how she supported them for a few years. She told him once that their ‘gift’ was passed down through her side of the family and that one day, he’d be able to hone his talent just like she had, and that he should be proud to have it.

For a little while, he supposed he was proud. It was like being a superhero. Then one day, his mother was called out as a fraud and suddenly he wasn’t.

“No, okay? I don’t feel anything” Tord scoffed as he looked back down at his phone “Look just to clear this up: Paul, the reason I was shaken up when I called you the first time was because something chased me and before you freak out no, it wasn’t a ghost” Tord looked back up at Paul and held his hand up when the man’s eyes widened in shock, he didn’t mention getting chased when they talked over the phone “It was just some dog, must’ve wandered in after me. I only recently found out when I went back to check it out, poor thing got trapped after I left so I let it out” 

Shortly after, Tord went back to scrolling on his phone while Paul and Patryck looked to each other in worry. They both knew they didn’t quite believe the story that Tord told them, somehow they knew there was something he wasn’t telling them. Though Patryck tried to rationalize that he was just too superstitious to accept what his friend told them.

Then again, Tord never really told the full truth when it came to matters like this.

“…well, I hope the little guy found his way back home then” Surprisingly it was Paul that broke the silence first, though Pat easily understood by the way Paul looked at him that his partner was only trying to move the topic somewhere else. Tord looked uncomfortable enough as it is and they wouldn’t want to upset him further.

“Right, yeah, good thing you decided to go back huh? You’re that dog’s savior” Pat smiled at his friend when Tord finally looked up from his phone. The Norwegian gave him a half smile but went back to whatever it was he was doing on his phone, his shoulders hunched as he slumped on the couch, staring at nothing else but the screen in his hand.

“So erm..I’ve got a new client coming along but her request is just _mind boggling_ ”

Paul began to ease his way into another story, one that Tord tried to pay attention to at random intervals to give some form of reaction, at some point it became enough for his two friends and the earlier mood was soon forgotten. Soon their table was once again tittering with laughter.

Though Tord had other things on his mind.

 

_‘Little is known about the Church Grim, as it’s even considered bad luck to speak of it..’_

_‘The Church Grim is a spirit that ‘haunts’ a single church, one that it protects from evil’_

_‘In some stories, it is not considered as a guardian but rather a malevolent spirit that is attracted to and feeds on the energies given off by churches’_

_‘It often appears in the form of a black dog, but is also known to take on other forms’_

_‘It is the spirit of a slaughtered animal whose blood was spilled on the foundations of the church..’_

_“…don’t come back”_

A Church Grim.

Was that what that thing was?

There wasn’t a lot of information on the internet, and Tord was often skeptical of the things he found there, more so that none seemed to mention any event of a Church Grim being able to speak.

_“…don’t come back”_

Tord knew he denied it the first time he felt it, but hearing that voice tugged at something within his chest. Ever since he heard it, there’d been a _very_ strong feeling of needing to return to that rotting church on top of the hill, to match the voice with a solid presence, and confirm that it wasn’t his ears playing tricks on him in the midst of his fearful haze. 

There was _something_ about that voice, it clawed at the back of his mind but before he could reach it, it would withdraw and slither away before he could understand what it was, no matter how hard he tried to pin it down. That nagging feeling that itched at him didn’t disappear though, and the tug just got even worse. 

_“…don’t come back”_

He needs to go back.

He _has_ to.

 

_‘…the Church Grim is often considered a bad omen, when one is encountered it most likely entails that you are about to die’_


	3. Favour

On a foggy Saturday morning, Tord stood quietly on the other end of the red rusted gate. He stared up at the looming structure, for the first time noticing that the sky remained a mucky grey even though it had been blue on his way up here just minutes ago. The realization only further isolated the place from the rest of the world in Tord’s mind, like it was detached from the reality he came from. 

It sure felt that way. 

The weight on his chest returned, the same feeling he received whenever he was anywhere near the church grounds. He had a bit of a hard time breathing but he managed to soldier through it anyway. Besides, that was the least of his concerns at the moment.

Out of habit, Tord looked around him for any other person, of course he found no one but it was hard to shake off something he’d done for years. When he confirmed that he was alone, he began to breathe deeply, pausing every time before he exhaled. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, centering his attention to everything but himself, to the point where he couldn’t even hear himself breathe.

The wind howled.

Two red eyes flashed in his mind before a constricting feeling around his throat made him snap his eyes open and breathe in a lungful of air through a wheezing gasp.

Tord knew exactly what that meant.

_He isn’t wanted here._

Well, good thing he was a stubborn son of a bitch.

_‘No offense mom’_

“I know you told me that I shouldn’t come back,” Tord approached the gate with his new load in tow. His hand easily found its way to one of the bars of the gate, this time he didn’t care if it groaned and made noise. The wind whistled through the churchyard in what felt like anger when the strained sound of aged iron echoed “but I feel as though just apologizing to you wasn’t enough! It wasn’t just you I needed to make things right with!”

Tord pushed the gate open with a grunt, the old metal screeched in protest, it pushed open in stuttering, clunky bursts until there was a space wide enough for Tord to slip through with his cargo. The wind howled once more, but this time it seemed as though a low rumbling hum accompanied it. Tord ignored the shiver that passed through his person at the sound.

“If you really are what I think you are,” _‘And I hope you are or I’m making a **terrible** mistake’ _“then you should understand what I’m trying to do here most of all!” It was hard to talk against the screaming wind, it was becoming so strong that Tord’s hair was starting to fly around him, bits of dirt pelted against his face, making him squint to avoid it getting in his eyes.

Gnashing his teeth, Tord pushed himself all the way through the gate, he stumbled but righted himself fast enough to catch himself. 

The wind died.

Tord heard the grass rustle somewhere beyond his position. Then his hairs stood on end.

Someone was watching.

And they **_hated_** that he was here again.

A freezing sensation travelled down Tord’s spine as his heart continued to beat rapidly, everything was quiet once more but it felt like that silence had somehow taken form and was creeping in on him from all sides, just a few more seconds and it’ll reach him and drag him away, never to be seen again. 

He heard his own blood rushing in his ears.

“I’m not here for you” He gritted out through his teeth, as he puffed his chest up and held himself high. Ensuring that he meant every word that came from his mouth. Even though he felt like he was seconds away from vomiting, Tord moved his hand back and slammed the gate closed behind him. It would take a lot of effort to pry it open again. 

If something decided to get him, he won’t have the time to get away.

“I’m here for that person whose resting place I destroyed, I’m here to make things right with _them_. So **_back off!_** _”_ He nearly screamed the last part as he stood rigid and shut his eyes, waiting. Only now did he realize how he sounded, a fool with a death wish no doubt, threatening a force he couldn’t even comprehend.

He was tempted to open his eyes again, the absolute black he saw unnerved him more than the thought of coming face to face with the spirit he narrowly escaped twice. Tord stood still in what felt like forever, not daring to move a muscle until permission was given.

The weight in his chest disappeared.

Tord let out the breath he was holding as one of his hands went up to his chest, he breathed in steadily, having no trouble with the cold air for the first time since he came there. He opened his eyes and looked around the graveyard, still empty.

The eyes watching him didn’t leave though, somewhere in his mind he knew the time he was allowed to be here was short.

Better get to work then. 

“..Thank you” He said before he went off to the direction of the scorched church where the headstone he destroyed lay in pieces.

Tord still kept his distance from the church despite knowing he was allowed here for a time. No matter what, that building harbored an energy he didn’t like. It was heavier than the one in the graveyard, thicker even, oozing like tar that threatened to suffocate him if he stayed too close.

 _‘…wait, ‘energy’? Fuck, I’m turning into mom’_ Tord shook his head as he rummaged through the bag he brought with him, he pulled out a pair of grass shears and began to cut away at the tall grass that surrounded the burial ground’s perimeter. He worked in silence for the most part, the monotonous _snip snip snip_ of the shears at least kept his mind numb, that way he’d forget where he was for a moment. 

Forget about that damned candle on the window.

Once he was done clearing the area, he was finally able to clearly see the bits of broken granite that littered the ground, it wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be, honestly he expected it to have crumbled to dust due to the negligence of the whole place, but it was salvageable.

Tord laid down a tarp and began to collect the broken pieces of the headstone on top of it, when he was sure he had all the pieces he began to clean each one carefully so as to not damage them any further. When most of them were clean, he set off to piece them back together, it was harder than it looked as he mostly forgot that he was working with epoxy rather than glue, it was harder to tape them together while ensuring they stayed in place while the adhesive settled. It was a good thing he often worked with fragile material, at least he wasn’t _too_ clumsy in handling the pieces.

He hadn’t even noticed that his silent audience had eased off him while he worked. 

Tord stood back up and looked down at what he did so far, most of the pieces were missing parts but those were too small to find anyway, so he’d have to fill in the holes himself once they were dry, though that wouldn’t be possible until after a day….

Tord blinked, he looked down at his watch and found that it was already nearing the end of the afternoon, he groaned when he felt his body pop in protest to his movements. He was going to be stiff for a while that’s for sure, being hunched over for that long _probably_ wasn’t good for him “I’m gonna come back tomorrow” Tord stepped over his materials, deciding that no one would ever even come here to steal any of his stuff anyway “That adhesive is going to take a while to settle, so I’m not done yet”

It still felt a little odd to talk out loud like this, part of him was still convinced that none of this was actually happening, but the pressure he felt on his back as he made his way to the exit said otherwise. Tord tried not to feel too threatened when he heard footsteps behind him “Fixing a headstone is pretty hard but it’s the least I can do for whoever was buried there. Maybe I’ll know who it is once I finish, but if the epitaph’s too faded maybe I can fix that for them too”

He was rambling, he knew it, but the pulsing cold on his back worried him since footsteps accompanied the feeling. His steps _may_ have hurried once he caught sight of the gate. His hand closed around a bar and he kept his head down as the footsteps stopped directly behind him. He didn’t dare look “…someone has to care about them you know..” He mumbled “There’s a lot of them buried here, someone _must_ have buried them here. These people were loved once..”

Surprisingly, the gate was easier to open, Tord stepped outside and shut the gate behind him “It’d be unfair for them to just disappear like that”

Tord let go of the gate then slowly turned to look behind him.

The empty graveyard hummed a quiet goodbye.

 

* * *

 

 

Like he promised, Tord would continuously return to the church on top of the hill to continue working on the headstone he’d accidentally destroyed. At the start, he’d have to assert himself time and time again, proving that he wasn’t there to cause trouble and only came back to finish what he started. He started to believe that this particular Church Grim was a pissy child in its past life, though he didn’t dare voice those thoughts out loud. It was already enough of a miracle that he was being allowed back into the grounds. 

For the most part, he hadn’t seen hide nor hair of the guarding spirit. It would make its presence known of course, in forms of cold chills and sudden shifts in gravity. It always did so to remind Tord that he was only a visitor, and that he wasn’t the one in control when he was here. The Norwegian had no qualms with the reminder, he knew better than to challenge the spirit.

Then one day, something new happened.

Tord had been tending to the pieces of the headstone again, by this time it was nearly complete, just a few more pieces to add on before it was whole. The epoxy took a ridiculous amount of time to settle, so during the times where Tord was able to finish early, he’d go around the grave and clear it from tall grass and various weeds that decided to sprout on top of it, he even found a mushroom or two but he also made quick work of that.

As Tord stood to dust the dirt from his hands, movement in the distance caught his attention. He looked up and saw the very same black dog he’d encountered enough times before, standing just a few meters away from where he was. It stood at attention, watching him closely with obvious apprehension, though it must be a good sign that it wasn’t snarling or barking at him anymore.

He could also see it, somewhat, clearly now without wanting to vomit, so that was another good thing right?

They stared each other down, neither moving an inch. Tord felt a sticky sensation start crawling down his neck when he stared at the spirit for too long, especially when he looked at its void black eyes. 

Tord gave the dog a hesitant wave. 

The black dog licked its nose and pulled its ears back with a snarl, it barked once then disappeared back into the tall grass. 

Tord sighed quietly with a shake of his head, he turned back to his work and pretended not to notice that he was being watched.

The days that followed after that was more or less the same, Tord would come back, fix what he can of the headstone and in extension the burial lot, and the black dog would sometimes make an appearance in the distance. Sometimes it would circle the area Tord worked in, other times it would simply watch from afar.

Tord noticed that it was starting to move closer. 

Today he brought over juvenile flower bushes, taken from his own garden which his mother used to tend. The headstone was finished around this time, all that was left to do was to polish it and see if he could do anything more for the epitaph. He figured that fixing up the lot with a few flowers would be alright, he once thought of just bringing a bouquet but that would just wither away in no time at all. 

Choosing to plant flowers beside the headstone just seemed like a better idea, at least this way the resting soul would never want for any more flowers, and with the rain up in the hill he wouldn’t have to always worry about their survival.

“Good morning” He greeted the graveyard as he swung the gate open and shut it behind him. It felt really surreal to just be able to walk into the graveyard without worry, when once he had this foreboding dread always hanging above his shoulders, these days it almost felt like he was simply taking a stroll through a park.

Although when he looked around, he didn’t see any trace of his other companion anywhere, he was quick to shrug it off however. Sometimes the spirit would just appear later on.

He felt his smile widen when he caught sight of the clean and well cared for burial lot that he spent many days tending to, his sore hands and aching back were enough of a testament to his labor.

Working on the grave had somehow become…therapeutic. In all honesty, Tord hadn’t found much reason to leave his house before all of this, Paul and Pat always told him it was unhealthy to stay inside his house for so long and without any other activity. Even if he reassured them that he kept himself fit, they would always insist that he step outside to breathe in some fresh air.

Oh if they could only see him now.

“Hey there, sorry I’m late” He said as he knelt down, setting the two juvenile bushes to the side where he left most of his materials. He’d already started on the restoration of the epitaph and managed to coax out the first name of the person buried there: Christopher. 

It was rather hard to fix the epitaph at first, he had no idea how to do it, but he was a quick study and most of the local engravers around town were friendly enough to show him how. Without their help, he wouldn’t have known Christopher’s name.

“I guess I overslept today because of how hard I worked yesterday” Tord began to fix all his materials as he leaned forward and continued to polish off the now whole headstone “But it’s fine, at least you’re all fixed now right?” His hand hovered over Christopher’s last name, some letters were decipherable but even with his restoration process, the natural damage done on the writing had already worn most of the letters away.

Tord sighed and figured to do the easier work first, fixing the epitaph would be the last thing he’d have to do before Christopher’s grave would be finished. 

That thought was almost jarring. He’d been so used to fixing Christopher’s grave up that he almost forgot that there was an end to all this.

Carefully, he dug up the soil beside the headstone but the crunch of grass close to his side halted his movements.

Standing just a few feet away, the closest its ever been, was the black dog that had been his constant hovering companion. It towered over him, more so that he was kneeling down. Tord, as always, simply gave the dog a small wave, though cautious.

The black dog seemed to huff at his actions, it lowered itself down until it laid flat on its belly, though it continued to watch.

Tord blinked in astonishment, the dog had always been stiff around him, as if it waited for him to attack. For the spirit to just decide to lie down casually in front of him was a big step in this odd relationship they had. Nevertheless, he returned to his work and began to plant the bushes on either side of Christopher’s headstone. Only somewhat vaguely aware of the dog’s presence.

With the plants now in place, Tord turned back to his current predicament. Figuring out what exactly Christopher’s last name was. He could sort of make out some of the letters but he didn’t want to risk being wrong, getting the man’s last name wrong just felt like another slap to the face. He’d desecrated Christopher’s grave once already; he wasn’t keen on doing it again.

Footsteps stopped behind him.

_“..Rochelle”_

Tord froze.

The Norski felt a familiar crushing pressure weigh down on his chest, his instincts immediately waved red flags in his mind as every fiber of his body warned him of an immediate danger. His heart pounded rapidly against his chest as the corner of his eyes made out a pale hand over his shoulder that pointed at the destroyed epitaph of Christopher’s grave.

_“..he wanted to be a doctor”_

The same whispery voice that drew him into the graveyard once more echoed in his mind, although now he noticed the way the voice would sometimes flicker in and out of audibility, and yet his mind would know exactly what was being said.

The pale hand drew back behind his shoulder, but Tord couldn’t find it in him to look behind him. Not when everything within him kept him frozen in fear, even when he wanted to see his new acquaintance for the first time.

With a sharp intake of breath, Tord ignored the way his body was screaming at him not to look, his teeth were chattering and his fingertips had grown numb with cold, but he was _determined_ to see who kept him company all this time. The tugging feeling at his chest _urged_ him to look. 

But by the time Tord managed to turn around, he was alone.

At the end of the day, Christopher Rochelle’s grave lot was cleared of debris and other obstructive items, the lot was cleaned and his headstone shone without any trace of dirt or decay. The two newly planted flower bushes rustled quietly, speaking amongst each other in the lonely grave.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaah bonus update for this story just because I'm having my preliminary examinations this week.


	4. Larsin

“You’ve been pretty distracted lately, should we be concerned?”

“Hm?” Tord blinked out of his daze and turned back to his two friends sitting on the couch with him. Paul was the one to invite him over to their house for some horror movie marathon, it looked like old timey ones, the kind that Paul liked to make fun of for the bad effects and cheesy situations. Though really, they were the only kinds of horror movies he could stand. Tord stopped paying attention to it half way through.

“Dude, seriously, you’ve been staring at our window for a long time now it’s kinda freaking me out” Paul frowned at him from where he sat beside Patryck who was in the middle of them “Please please _please_ tell me you aren’t seeing any spooks outside our house because if you do, I’m going to power wash _everything_ with holy water”

“The hell? What- no!” Tord frowned at them both when they seemed convinced that he could somehow see a ghost hovering just outside their home “For godsake you two! I zone out just like any other human being alright?? Just because I’m staring at nothing doesn’t mean there’s immediately something else there” 

“Could’ve fooled me, you and your mom see things that we don’t” Pat said while he munched on the bowl of popcorn he managed to steal from Paul while he wasn’t looking "You're like a cat, the kinds that stare at corners where people died in"

“It doesn’t mean you should treat everything I do as some sort of warning” Tord scratched at the back of his neck, that same creeping shame that he’d felt multiple times before began to resurface again. He still wasn’t comfortable talking about their so called family ‘talent’, it was even more weird that Paul and Pat had gotten so used to it that the topic was now just _casual_ between them "And fuck you for calling me a ghost detecting cat" He grumbled.

“Tord, you’re one of the first people I’ve met that told me to ‘Dust off your shoes before entering my house’ as a greeting. I could have taken it as some sort of germophobe thing if you didn’t say it so ominously” Pat said but he didn’t lift his eyes from the television in front of them.

Tord knew that both of his friends were somewhat like his mother, in the sense that they readily believed in something other than what they already see and weren’t ashamed to announce it. Though he did still have his reservations, it’s hard to forget the ridicule he received from others as a child.

It would take a while before he could openly admit to anything, for now he was content just keeping it personal.

“I’m just saying…” Paul cut in, looking at the Norwegian with a leveling gaze “You _have_ to be a little more sensitive about your staring, considering your family, Pat and I are going to treat any of your prolonged staring as a sign that something we can’t see is with us” 

“My god, you two are ridiculous” Tord scoffed as he turned his attention towards the television and pretend that he was paying attention. The one thing he was annoyed of when it came to his friends were how perceptive they can be at times. He knew no matter how many times he deflected the topic of his family’s ‘talent’ they wouldn’t be all too convinced that he couldn’t exactly see anything.

Which was why he wasn’t going to say anything about the blood soaked man that was hovering outside their window.

They probably won’t appreciate that.

“Seriously though Tord,” Said person looked over at the call of his name. Pat gave him a worried smile as he shook his shoulder “we’re just a little worried about you, like I said, you’ve been pretty distracted lately. You haven’t been in your house for a while now either”

“What? I thought you guys said I should get more sun? Make up your mind”

“Yes but you just _disappear_ these days. We don’t know where you go anymore, you won’t even _tell_ us” Patryck regarded him seriously, Tord hoped his eyes weren’t giving anything away “Are you sure you’re okay? You know that we’ll always help you if you need it”

Black fur, red eyes, a pale hand, a whispery voice.

The weight on his chest.

The _pull._

_‘Don’t tell them’_

“Yeah, I’m okay, I’ve just been doing a lot of…thinking” The Norski mused, looking down at his lap “I just…I think I’ve recently discovered something and I need a bit of time to figure it out, that’s all”

Patryck turned to Paul, the same thought crossed their mind. It most likely had something to do with the old church from his mother’s story. It was completely obvious, Tord only got this way after that client asked him for that photo. Paul clenched his hands against the couch, seething at someone he barely even knew.

Patryck reached over and placed his hand on top of his partner’s, he rubbed soothing circles on the skin as Paul turned his head away. Patryck could only console him through his inner turmoil.

Beside them, Tord thought back to everything that’s been happening, starting when he first heard the voice of the supposed Church Grim.

He didn’t know _what_ it was, but something about that persistent tug that pulled him towards the graveyard again and again just wouldn’t leave him be. Though he always reacted so fearfully when the spirit grew close, something else urged him to return. He’d never felt this strongly about anything, not even when he was a child.

 _Why_ did he feel the need to return to the graveyard?

Specifically, back to the Church Grim?

One thing was for certain, he wasn’t going to find any answers just asking himself questions.

 

* * *

 

 

Tord Larsin  _hated_ going outside.

His house was a fortress, though not many people would really notice what he did to keep himself safe. If anything, the Larsin residence looked like any other house in their neighborhood, but the neighbors themselves will tell any gossip hungry visitor that Tord Larsin fit the mould of their community just as well as his crazy old mother did.

Sometimes, people say, that on the rare occasion that Tord Larsin would reemerge from his home, he would only do so to paint unnerving symbols on the corners of his window sills, he used red paint more often than not, or at least people liked to think that he did.

One time Mrs. Beck from across the road saw Tord Larsin line his doors with an odd white powder, and heavens no! She wouldn’t dare go any closer to that eerie home for a better look! What did you think she was? 89?? She had a whole life ahead of her! No sense in mingling with or catching the attention of odd folk.

Mr. Hansen, who lived two houses away, once passed by Tord Larsin while on his jog. He said he looked quite odd, his face was pale and sweaty and he was mumbling something under his breath. He was walking quite fast even if he tried to pretend he was out for a leisurely stroll. Mr. Hansen _swore_ that he saw Tord Larsin get pushed to the ground when no one was around to do so, though he would recount his story and simply say that Tord Larsin must have tripped. A shadowed look in his eyes sometimes said otherwise.

Ms. Hall, who happened to be part of their local neighborhood association, said that Tord Larsin was just as loony as his mother. She would then hum sadly, say it was a shame that Mrs. Larsin had tainted her boy with her delusions, say that she wished she could help but no, there was no helping mad people. She tried to have Tord Larsin reported for suspicious activities, but for some reason never made good with her words. What? She would say, nervously glancing at the direction of Tord Larsin’s house, she just hadn’t the time of course!

She would then clutch at the cross around her neck, but no one really called her out on that. 

Which was why a lot of them were relieved that Tord rarely went outside.

Why were they relieved?

‘Oh’, they would say and then trail off, and then make an excuse, and then leave.

Tord Larsin just _hated_ going outside.

Nobody complained.

Except this time, Tord did.

Tord hugged his knees and kept his head low as he breathed in shuddering breaths. He tightened his grip on his own legs when a shadow passed by one of the windows closest to him, blocking the already limited sunlight that pressed through the blinds. He pressed himself further up against the corner he backed himself into until the presence hovered away from his general location. 

It was quiet in his house, every light was turned off, every electronic device was unplugged.

Tord breathed out shakily as he peered past his arms to stare at the darkness of his own home, he stared for such a long time that his eyes began to see static as they went out of focus. He blinked a couple of times before he buried his head back into his arms. 

_Tick, tock, tick, tock._

The clock was the only thing still allowed to operate, Tord needed to know how long he’d been stuck in the corner.

Four hours, last he checked.

Silhouettes passed by his curtained windows, sometimes they stopped before moving on.

Tord tried not to let his panic get the best of him, if he started acknowledging that he was it was only going to end badly for him. He tried to steady his breathing, even when his lungs refused to take in any deep breaths and every time he tried his breathing only got shallower, his heart was pounding so fast, he can’t feel his hands, it was cold, _it was cold,_ and something was _in the house, he could hear it moving in the house._

Tord forced himself to breathe in deep, his eyes watered and stung. The Norwegian hugged himself tighter and continued to keep his head down, even if barely audible low humming began near the window closest to him.

He peeked through his arms again and caught sight of his cellphone, just a few feet across from him, still lying where he’d dropped it the moment he realized he’d brought home something he shouldn’t have.

His fingers twitched.

The humming receded.

Tord swallowed hard before he gingerly untangled himself from his own death grip. As quietly as he could, Tord crept towards his phone, only stopping when something moved past the window above him. 

_Tick, tock, tick, tock._

His hand was mere inches away, the thing that stopped at his window blanketed it in a shadow. He stared at his hand, only now realizing that it was hovering close to the line of sight of the window. If he moved it any more, it would be directly under the crack in his blinds.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock._

Tord kept completely still, even when his arm was starting to cramp up and his legs shook with effort. He kept himself from flinching when the shadow grew bigger.

_Tick, tock, tick-_

Sunlight fell on the skin of his hand and Tord immediately reached over to pick up his cellphone. Crawling back into the corner as quietly as he could, he turned the device back on.

_‘Hey, you okay over there?’_

Patryck’s last text appeared on the screen, he’d been the one Tord was talking to before he noticed something circling his house. With trembling fingers, Tord typed out his reply.

 _‘Not really, but I’ll survive'_

_‘…’_

_‘…’_

_‘Do you want us to come get you?’_

Tord hid the phone between his legs and his chest when he felt his throat constrict. He ducked his head down as a cold feeling passed over him. He only lifted his head up and resumed typing when it was gone.

_‘No, too many of them are here, you’ll risk one getting in my house if you open any of the doors’_

_‘Shit, it’s that bad?’_

Tord bit his lower lip.

_‘I didn’t notice them follow me home’_

_‘…’_

_‘…’_

_‘…’_

_‘…’_

_‘Holy shit, really?’_

Tord could agree with Patryck on that one. Given that his family had a special kind of blood running through their veins, it was no surprise that they were the constant targets of things unseen. He couldn’t remember a single day wherein he could walk around without at least catching the attention of a few wayward spirits. Benevolent or otherwise. 

Because of this, he’d been prepared from a young age to deal with the spirits that tried to latch on to him. His mother often warned that it was dangerous to let the dead know where the living dwell, she taught him how to mislead the stubborn souls that refused to depart from their world, constantly on the lookout for something to latch on to and keep them here.

People like them were the perfect anchors.

The price to live a fairly normal life was to spend the rest of it looking over his shoulder.

This time, Tord forgot to look.

Patryck was right, he’d been distracted lately, and he won’t pretend he didn’t know why.

_‘Yeah, I know, but if I hide long enough they’ll go away’_

_‘How the hell do you know that’ll work?? Tord I am_ this _close to calling an exorcist’_

_‘And risk more of them scenting me out? No, no holy people, they’re like walking floodlights for these things’_

_‘Better not tell that to pastor David, I think he’d be pretty upset to find out that demons think he’s attractive’_

At least that managed to make Tord smile. Talking with either Paul or Patryck always made him feel better.

They made him feel normal. 

Like his life wasn’t always threatened.

_‘Just, don’t tell Paul about this okay? I know he can get emotional’_

_‘Lucky for you I don’t really feel like upsetting him today either, he’s already pretty worried about you. If I wasn’t his boyfriend, I would’ve been jealous tbh’_

Tord bit the skin on his thumb, worried about his friend as well. He knew Paul longer than he knew Patryck, he met Paul when he had just graduated from high school after he moved in. Unlike most of the new people that moved into the small town, Paul didn’t immediately believe the rumors that surrounded his family. Being a gigantic horror nut at the time might have also helped him make friends with the family that claimed to see ghosts.

It was pretty funny to be asked if insane zombie pirates from hell were real, with such a hopeful look on Paul’s face.

They weren’t but Tord humoured him for about two years.

Paul stuck by him for the longest time, longer than anyone he knew. Which is why he felt so guilty for making him worry so much these days.

_‘Eh, he isn’t really my type anyway’_

_‘It’s the eyebrows isn’t it?’_

_‘Lucky guess’_

_‘Well, I’ll have you know, I think his bushy brows make him_ very _handsome’_

Tord chuckled but quickly clamped a hand to his mouth as his wide eyes turned to look at the window. A silhouette stood completely still, facing the direction he hid himself in. Tord lowered his breathing as he held the tense stand still between him and the thing that followed him home. When it slowly began to move away, he let himself sigh in relief.

On the other side of the house, he heard something tap at a window three times.

Tord felt his heart stutter at the sudden sound that broke the silence.

……

 _‘…’_

_‘If it’s okay with you and Paul, could I maybe crash at your place? Two days tops I swear’_

_‘You don’t have to ask, we’re okay with letting you stay a while if you think you can’t sleep alone at your house rn. Esp, with those things outside your doors’_

_‘…’_

_‘…’_

_‘Thank you. I promise I won’t let them follow me to your house’_

_‘No prob. You’ve also still got a few clothes you left behind here, I hung them up in the guest room closet. So if you find a chance to bolt, you don’t have to waste time packing k? Just get over here as soon as you can’_

_‘Thank you Pat, seriously’_

Tord shut his phone off after he hit send. Pocketing his phone and folding his arms on top of his knees once more, the Norwegian lowered his head and decided to wait out his uninvited guests a bit more. By the end of it, he waited for at least five more hours to pass before he picked himself up, and crept quietly to the back door of his house. The ticking of the clock followed him all the way out.

Mr. Johanne, from the house one block down, would later tell his golfing buddies that he saw Tord Larsin sneak out of his own house and run down the street as though the devil himself was on his tail. Though he won’t mention how he saw the second floor bedroom’s lights flicker to life, where a shadowy figure stood watching as Tord Larsin darted out of sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Haha, there was a protest today, uni cancelled our classes so now I'm stuck in my flat with time to upload one pre-written chapter.


	5. The town

_When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by nothing but black._

_There was a low thrumming sound, like if a strong gust of wind continuingly blew into his ears, despite that he felt nothing of the sort passing through._

_The sound drilled into his head, like cotton had been stuffed into his skull._

_He blinked his eyes after they started to hurt, as though staring into the never ending nothingness threatened to pull them out of their sockets. He felt weightless, there wasn’t anything to ground him here, nothing to say if he were standing or sitting, heavy or light, whole or in pieces. He knew he could move his head, he could still feel his neck turning with the movement, but even if he looked down to see his own two feet, he couldn’t see anything._

_He was there but then he wasn’t._

_On his second blink there was suddenly something in front of him, flickering sporadically into existence. A small, brown rag doll made entirely of burlap slumped in on itself in an awkward sitting position. Its arms lay limp on either side as its black button eyes stared downwards. A crooked smile, barely seen, lay permanently stitched on a head too swollen for its body._

_The low thrum in his ears didn’t change as he continued to stare at the doll, the only thing in this place that he could clearly see._

_The stitches on its mouth began to pull apart. One by one._

_Pop…..pop…..pop…..pop…..pop…..pop._

_Rows of perfect, white, human teeth lined the inside of the doll’s mouth, there were no gaps between them, no sign of decay, none bent out of shape, none shorter or taller than the others. They were the same height, same shade, same alignment. They were perfect._

_This perfection was **not** comforting, its achievement of the ideal was uncanny, nauseating._

**_Wrong._ **

_The doll pulled itself up, shining button eyes staring directly into his own._

_“You’ve been coming here too much, Tord” He winced at the harsh way the teeth bashed together as the doll spoke, as If it didn’t know how to without clacking its own teeth together at every word. It gnashed its teeth when it stopped talking, emitting a low scratching noise that rattled his skull._

_The doll smiled as its teeth continued to grind together, its jaw moved further and further apart “You should stop doing this before you forget how to. Before something finds you”_

**_CRACK._ **

****

_The doll’s lower jaw stopped moving, jutted painfully to the side. It twitched._

**_CRACK_ **

****

**_CRACK_ **

****

**_CRACK_ **

_Unhinging spastically, its jaw hung low and wide open, giving him a view of the same black nothing crawling inside its mouth. Without any warning, the raggedy doll caught on fire, the flames crackled as it ate into the burlap._

_The doll moved closer, even as it sat still._

_He couldn’t move._

_“Tord”_

_Closer._

_“Tord”_

_Closer._

_“Tord”_

_Closer._

_“Tord”_

“TORD!”

Tord gasped awake, sweat falling from his temples despite him feeling cold. He blinked rapidly at the feeling of someone shaking him by the shoulders. He stared up at a blurry face that slowly came into focus, revealing a wide eyed Patryck looking down at him in fear.

“Oh my god, Tord are you with me? Tord are you there? Can you hear me??” Patryck’s hands cupped his face, his eyes darted around. Mutely, Tord nodded, breathing slowly through his mouth while his friend fretted over him. Patryck brushed the hair from his eyes and let out a shaky breath “Oh my god…oh my god……” He breathed out as he let Tord go, his arms falling limp at his sides as he sat back on the bed. 

“Pat…why are you…in my house?” Tord slowly pushed himself up by his arms, blinking blearily at Patryck.

“Tord…” Patryck frowned at him, combing a hand through his own hair “We’re not at your house”

Oh.

Right.

“Right…yeah, I’m sorry I’m a little..” Tord trailed off, pulling a hand down his face as he sat up properly.

“Tord” Patryck carefully scooted closer to him, the guest bed creaked under the added weight “What’s happening to you?”

Tord frowned at the question “What do you mean? It’s nothing, I was having a nightmare”

“You stopped breathing”

Tord felt his chest go cold.

Patryck looked behind him, where the hallway lights pooled into the darkened room, it didn’t reach all the way in but it provided enough illumination to vaguely see the silhouettes of the items in the room. The sound of the clock outside followed it in.

_Tick, tock, tick, tock._

“You’ve been having a lot of nightmares lately” Patryck muttered, keeping his voice low “After the first two days I was getting concerned. I guess I was right to check on you this time” Patryck sighed out a breath through his nose as he thinned his lips, Tord kept his head down the entire time “Is this about what happened at your house? Did something touch you or look at you, anything at all like that? I’m not sure how this stuff works but maybe something caused your nightmares?”

Tord pulled his knees up to his chest, his eyes felt heavy in their sockets. There was no way he could tell Patryck that nothing back in his house caused the nightmares, the same ones with the recurring theme of fire and burning, the same ones he’d been having for two months in a row now.

Though none of them were quite that…vivid.

To answer Patryck’s question, Tord shrugged his shoulders, it was better than leaving him with nothing “I don’t think any of those things that followed me home caused it, I don’t know, maybe they did and I never noticed”

“Well…can we do something about it? Should I get Paul?” 

Tord’s frown deepened, he buried his head in his arms, muffling his voice through the fabric “No, neither of you need to stress too much about this. If anything, it’s probably going to blow over in a few days”

Patryck looked to the side, sighing. Turned back to his friend and reached out a hand to grip onto his shoulder “Tord, I know you don’t like talking about this stuff, especially with me and Paul” His thumb rubbed circles on the sleeve of his friend’s pyjama blouse, not missing how stiff his arm felt under it “I know that you’re trying to protect us from that world, the less we know and all that, but don’t forget that you’re our friend too. We just want to help, okay?”

Tord kept still for a moment, then Patryck felt him relax under his touch. The Norwegian nodded, with his head still in his arms. The sight was reminiscent of a scared child, Patryck wouldn’t be surprised if this particular position had been engraved into Tord’s subconscious since he was little. With eyes like his that can see things no one can, blocking out the world made him like everyone else, if only for a short time.

“You’ll tell us won’t you? If not right now, maybe at another time?” Patryck was given another head nod, he hummed quietly “Tord, if there is _anything_ Paul and I can do, just let us know. I promise asking us won’t be too much”

“You’re already doing something” Tord lifted his head up, a half smile twitching past his lips “Really Pat, you’re both doing a lot for me already, and that says a lot in this town” The Norwegian let out a half embarrassed breathy laugh “..I’m glad you’re both my friends”

Patryck smiled at him, he slung an arm over his shoulders “Well of course, we’re happy you’re our friend too”

“Y’know, I never thought that cliché of finding my lover in the arms of my best friend would come true, and yet here we are” Tord and Patryck turned to the new voice. Paul leaned against the doorframe of the guest room with his eyes closed “So lame…Pat it’s _way_ too early to be cheating on me” His voice was gravelly and heavy with sleep. Paul yawned and slowly dragged himself towards the two on the bed. As ungracefully as he possibly could, Paul flopped into the bed, jostling his two companions with his movements “Besides,” Another yawn “All of us know I’m the handsome one between the two of us, you’re basically settling for bronze here Pat when you had gold" 

“And that devastatingly large ego, my friends, is why Pat decided to cheat on you tonight” Tord quipped with a grin “You may be the living incarnation of Adonis but you’ve got one hell of a superiority complex”

“It’s not a superiority complex if you just proved my point” Paul cracked one eye open to smile up at Patryck, who was shaking his head at him in mild exasperation “See Pat? _Adonis”_ He jumped his eyebrows, an incredible sight to behold because of their size. Patryck chuckled at him and Paul grinned as he nestled into the sheets “So, sleepover tonight? Pat why don’t you go out and find a movie we can watch? Something girly or whatever because I’m not ready for heart pumping action or horror at two in the morning”

“Aren’t you supposed to actually sleep at _sleep_ overs?” Patryck sighed but stood up anyway to go find a movie like Paul suggested.

“Rule number one of sleepovers: Ya don’t sleep, you giggle and dick around to the point of sleep deprivation induced hysteria” Paul held a finger up, waving it around as he spoke just as Pat left the room “Remember! Something girly!!” He reminded.

“You’re unbelievable” Tord scoffed, resting his chin on his knees while he stared down at his best friend, who was so rudely taking up all the space on his bed.

“Funny, that’s usually what I think of you on a day to day basis” Paul rested his hands behind his head and didn’t bother to open his eyes this time while he spoke “And _you_ should be a little nicer to me boyfriend stealer. You’re under my roof Larsin, you don’t get to complain when you forced us into a sleepover”

“Weren’t _you_ the one that did that?”

“My house Larsin, number one rule of my house is that I’m never at fault” Paul poked Tord’s leg “So you, Pat, and I will sit here and watch whatever girly movie Pat brings in and you’ll enjoy that shit till the sun rises cause I’m not going to”

Tord chuckled, he sighed and smiled down at Paul “…Thanks by the way”

Paul peered up at him through one eye, he smirked “Yeah yeah, love you too buddy”

“I didn’t really know what constituted for girly” Patryck walked back into the guest room with a DVD case in his hand, he closed the door behind him with a soft click, bathing the room in a soft darkness only broken by the moonlight through the window “So I went through Paul’s old DVD hoard and picked the first one with the word Princess on it”

“Hey what the fuck!” Paul suddenly sat up, narrowing his eyes at the case “The Princess Bride is _not_ girly! It’s full of adventure and drama!”

“Sure Paul” Patryck dusted off the old DVD player in the room and popped the disk in, with a little bit of effort in trying to get the player to work. Once the movie began to play, Patryck settled down on the floor, leaning against the bed while Paul moved himself to lie flat on his belly, muttering ‘I said a girly movie…’ under his breath in dismay.

Tord watched them both with a smile, slowly untangling his arms from his legs so that he could be a bit more comfortable on the bed. He moved a little closer to his friends, only partly paying attention to the movie on the old TV’s glitchy screen.

The trio fell asleep together halfway through the movie.

 

* * *

 

The town of St. Stina was the first little town that Patryck ever considered settling down in. It wasn’t like the usual big cityscapes he often preferred, with their high buildings, bustling streets and noisy squares, the qualities no one else really liked but he did, big cities did a good job of keeping him busy.

Patryck worked real estate, it wasn’t a very fun job but it was stable enough to keep food on his plate. The only excitement he could gain from his job was when he’d hop onto their transfer programs, it brought him to many different places where their other branches would be. For a little while he was jokingly called ‘the nomad’ by his co-workers. No one else moved so much like he did.

Then he transferred to the town of St. Stina, and suddenly that moniker started to make less sense.

Now Patryck was a charming man, it was this aspect of him that allowed him to build a fairly impressive track record of sales. He could sell a dead patch of land to a hardened farmer and be thanked for it. He would say otherwise- with a rising blush and a shy smile- but most people tended to praise his abilities, especially when he was so modest.

His work was the sole reason why the branch at St. Stina requested his services.

At first, Patryck wasn’t sure why it was so hard to sell property in this quaint town. They had reasonably good amnesties and resources. It was located in a very scenic area as well. Since the town was in a mountain range, nature surrounded them in a warm embrace, the air was fresh and the weather was consistently cool but not so much that it was freezing. To a lot of people, this place would be ideal.

What was wrong with it?

The answer had lain with a young man who the town knew as Tord Larsin.

Patryck was fairly familiar with the workings of small isolated towns, since the world they knew stopped where the town ended, they tended to have this odd habit of circling speculations and rumours about every little thing that happened to anyone around them. No one had much need for newsletters here, people would hear about the latest happenings through the gossip mill before any reporters could broadcast it. Often times, even legitimate news channels were ignored in favour of a story passed through word of mouth.

This distrust of anyone outside their circles led to a sort of detachment from reality. So Patryck took the people’s word with a grain of salt when they said that the Larsin family was cursed.

Well, they didn’t _say_ it- they said the Larsins were raving mad lunatics- but they did imply it, and heavily so.

Anyway, whatever it was that Tord Larsin did, it more or less dissuaded people from purchasing property in the scenic town of St. Stina. Though Patryck believed it was the very people of the town spreading their rumours that did it more than the local loner. How could someone who barely left their house cause such a ruckus in the town?

So Patryck waved the stories away and set of to do his job like usual. 

It wasn’t until a month of living in St. Stina that Patryck began to notice odd things. It started out small, just bouts of the shakes whenever he passed by areas most people avoided, then that chill turned to shudders as he caught sight of something following him home from the corners of his eyes. Then came the unexplained bruises, the frequent episodes of sleep paralysis, and hearing footsteps run up the stairs of his apartment complex every morning, at exactly three a.m.

Their complex had a curfew, the guards wouldn’t have allowed anyone to be causing so much disturbance so early. 

Patryck had been running on fumes and coffee for a while after those strange events started to wear him thin. He found himself dozing off at work or completely forgetting days entirely, by the end of the first month he was completely sleep deprived.

Staying up all night looking fearfully at the door as someone whispered ‘let me in’ wasn’t a very good excuse to tell his boss.

To keep his health from dipping any further, Patryck took a week off and decided to snoop around the town for answers. 

He learned three things about the town of St. Stina.

One: The locals _definitely_ knew that something was wrong with their town, but they either ignored it or deflected any implications of it.

Two: The town had a very, let’s say, _colourful_ history. It’s isolated location, far from many of the outside world’s help, probably had a hand in it.

Three: The older folk who lived in the town were less dodgy about the topic of other worldly beings, but they say that they weren’t this aggressive before. However, they do have something to blame that on.

The Larsin family. The one family that no one wants to associate with. The family that meddled with spirits.

Tord Larsin.

It always came back to Tord Larsin. 

Patryck didn’t meet Tord right away, firstly because he couldn’t just barge into someone’s life based on some rumours he heard, secondly because at that time Patryck was a sceptic and all these stories sounded too fantastical to be real.

Though, he did meet Paul.

A sweet, oddly bushy browed, man with a beautiful smile who worked as a hired security guard in a local market, and just like everyone in the town he was devoutly superstitious. Though Paul was _a lot_ more vocal about his beliefs than the other locals who danced around it.

And because of the ongoing theme, he wasn’t surprised to learn later on that Paul was Tord Larsin’s best friend, and oh! Patryck you should meet him! Tord is a nice guy!!

Things sort of went downhill from there, well, it went uphill then went downhill again after a shoe tried to choke him to death in his own home.

Never _ever_ was Patryck **_ever_** going to take any of Tord’s warnings lightly, this town would be crazy not to listen to him. They still didn’t but Patryck suspected that not interacting with him on a daily basis actually _did_ make them uninteresting to the local spirits. Patryck didn’t mind it though, he’d grown to really like Tord, even if the psychic came with a bit of supernatural baggage.

Oh and Tord was _definitely_ a psychic, Patryck doesn’t care if the man himself claimed he’s not.

It’s been exactly seven years since he came to St. Stina, fell in love with Paul, and became friends with Tord.

None of his first questions about the town, about Tord, had been answered to this very day.

Though he knew now not to press Tord for answers, he always looked so sad, but Tord himself didn’t have a lot of answers either.

Patryck was okay with that. He just wished that he could pretend that Tord was safe from the things that followed him in the dark. Paul used to assure him that the Norwegian could handle himself, but Patryck knew Paul thought of the same thing at times.

All they could really do? Support Tord and give him a safe place to stay when things got rough. For a while that was enough, for a while Tord lived like he always did.

Until Tord’s new client came along, suddenly Tord was hanging by a thread of safety these days. 

Paul’s been working non-stop to find out who this stranger is, they needed to get this man away from their friend as soon as possible. Whatever it actually was that the man asked Tord to do- because they know there must be something else than what their friend told them- it was putting the Norwegian’s life in danger for sure.

Tord hasn’t been himself lately, he’d been disappearing a lot too.

Patryck took a shaky sip from his mug but immediately spat out the scalding liquid.

“AUGH SHHKT!” Patryck fanned at his tongue as his eyes began to water, he felt the skin of his tongue peel back after getting burned by his morning coffee. He whimpered in displeasure and kept his tongue out of his mouth to let the cold air sooth the burned skin.

“Morning, burned yourself with your coffee again?” Patryck huffed as Paul walked behind him after he pressed a feather light kiss on top of his head. Paul yawned and began to move around their kitchen to prepare breakfast, it was his turn to cook today anyway, which was good for Patryck who’d completely forgotten the schedule while he was reminiscing.

Their home was one of the smaller ones, of course Patryck had a lot of knowledge of reasonably priced homes that were bigger, but when he and Paul decided to move in together, Paul said he was perfectly content with his small childhood home. Patryck had to agree with him, even if there wasn’t much space for a lot of things, it felt cosy and nice to go home to. 

“Hm, forgot it was still hot” Patryck said as he stared disdainfully at his steaming mug. He heard Paul laugh quietly while he began cooking.

“What did I say about using that big brain of yours so early in the morning?” Paul mock chided, waving his spatula at him. Patryck snickered at the image of the pink robed, bed headed, Paul in bunny slippers scolding him with his pancake smeared spatula. The other man simply smirked at him before turning back to making breakfast “Oh think that’s funny do you? I heard you can overheat your brain if you think too much, then it’ll melt right out of your ear”

“Where’d you hear that from? Did Mrs. Hannigan tell you that while she was bathing her chickens in the front yard again?”

“Heeey, Mrs. Hannigan is a reliable source. She used to be a doctor you know”

“It’s the ‘used to be’ part that scares me. Did she retire or did they fire her??”

“ _All I’m saying smarty pants”_ Paul walked over to the table, hands on his hips as he looked down at Patryck in frustration “It’s okay to let your poor brain take a break once and a while” He grabbed the man’s face and kissed him between his eyebrows, smiling happily against the skin “You’ll give yourself stress lines with all that overthinking”

Patryck gave him a partially amused smile, eyes half closed and one eyebrow cocked as he looked up at him “Your pancakes are burning”

“WHAT REALLY-?! _SHIT!!”_ Paul whirled around faster than Paul could keep up with and began flapping about as the poor pancakes he was supposed to be cooking began to shrivel up into charcoal on the pan. Patryck wordlessly stood up and opened a window while Paul tried to salvage the ruined breakfast food.

“I smell burning things, are we having barbecue for breakfast or is Paul cooking?”

Patryck turned to the newest occupant of the house- and current centre of his worries- while Paul cursed up a storm behind him, waving away the black smoke as he coughed about useless spatulas “Oh you know, Paul’s making his signature dish is all, no worries”

Tord laughed as he walked into the dining room, rubbing his eyes to be rid of his sleep. He yawned and settled down into a chair “Ooooh yummy, are we having soft charcoal or hard charcoal today?”

“You guys are _jerks_ ” Paul whined from the kitchen, dumping the still smoking pan into the sink he filled with water. Shameful sizzling followed him out of the kitchen as he set down one plate of decent looking pancakes and another one that had…gradient looking pancakes.

“Wow, I’ve never seen so many sepia shades in one breakfast before” Tord poked the stack of slightly burned pancakes while Patryck sat back down on his own chair beside him.

“If you’re just gonna sit there and insult my food I don’t think you should eat breakfast today” Paul huffed in annoyance as he swiftly sat down on his own chair himself, he immediately picked up the darker shade of pancakes and began to munch down on them. Tord winced when he heard crunching “See? My pancakes are perfectly fine! _Really_ delicious even!” He said, as he held back gagging noises.

“Well…” Patryck reached a hand out to put on Paul’s shoulder, if only to keep the man from torturing himself to prove a point, he was already reaching for the second blackened pancake “I think the different tones of sepia is a very, erm, _artistic_ choice. It’s unique” 

Paul preened at the praise, he gave Tord a pointed look to which the Norwegian simply rolled his eyes to. Patryck chuckled between them, it was these moments of normalcy he wished would happen often to his friends. Both Paul and Tord always looked happier when they forgot about the world outside their doors. Just seeing the both of them banter back and forth now, Patryck could almost pretend that everything was normal. 

“He’s your _boyfriend_ , of course he’s going to side with you!” 

“You’re supposed to be my _best friend!_ The hell kind of best friend won’t eat his best friend’s special pancakes??”

“Special pancakes aren’t supposed to be carcinogenic or give you salmonella”

“Big words just make me angrier”

“Oookay you two” Patryck got in between them just as Tord looked an inch away from throwing one of Paul’s studier pancakes at him “No fighting at the table, besides if either of you knock over my coffee while you pull each other’s hair, you’re going to have bigger things to worry about than food transmitted diseases”

Paul stuck his tongue out childishly at Tord, the other man did the same with a smile. Patryck could only shake his head.

“So, do the two of you have any plans today?” Tord was eating one of the softer pancakes that Paul managed to save. Though part of it still leaked pancake batter when he bit into it, Tord must have considered it a lesser evil compared to the questionably crunchy variety.

“Well, I’m just going to the office to do some paperwork” Patryck said as he pushed his also squishy pancake around his plate, trying to push out as much of the uncooked batter as possible before he ate it “Though I’m probably gonna be gone for a whole day since I’ve got a recent buyer”

“Let me guess, cat lady Selma?” 

“And you say you aren’t psychic”

Tord narrowed his eyes at Patryck in mock offense. He scoffed and stuffed the last piece of his undercooked pancake in his mouth “No, it’s just that Ms. Selma’s been complaining to the neighbourhood association about me again. She says I’ve been stressing out her cats more than usual these days. If anything, I was actually expecting her to move away at some point” 

Patryck frowned at that, before he could say anything, Paul cut into the conversation, almost hastily.

“Mm, it’s the usual for me” Paul said after he finished downing his water, try as he might, it was obvious he was starting to resent eating his own creation. Though Patryck could see the worried look in his eyes after he’d blatantly cut him off “I’ve got a shift at the market today, it’s gonna be longer than usual because Olsen decided to catch the flu. It was really insensitive of him to be honest” Paul surreptitiously pushed his plate a little further away from him as he leaned back against his chair and crossed his arms “It’s gonna suck standing outside in the cold all day”

“Which is _why_ I’m going to pack you a thermos full of hot chocolate today” Patryck waved his fork at Paul who shot him a grateful smile and a wink.

“Aw, I’m so lucky I have you”

“Flattering me won’t work Paul, I’m still not going to draw hearts on your lunch bag”

“But how will the other guys know I’ve got a loving boyfriend to come home toooo????” 

Patryck laughed and leaned over to peck Paul on the cheek “You’re such a child”

Paul grinned at him and returned the kiss “Don’t mistake me for an adult Pat, growing up is lame”

“Ooooh God, I never thought I’d experience the disgust of parental affection in the form of my friends” Tord let his head fall forward on the table with a groan while his two companions laughed at his actions.

“So I guess that means that the two of us might be gone from the house all day” Patryck said, pointedly looking at Tord who still had his head resting on the table “How about you? Will you be, you know, okay on your own today?”

Patryck heard Tord inhale slowly, letting his breath come out in one big sigh before he pulled himself back up and leaned against his chair “Uh, well, actually I was thinking of going out today. I’ve been stuck in this house for a while now, so some fresh air is welcome”

Patryck darted his eyes towards Paul, his partner briefly met his eyes before turning back to Tord again with a smile. Thankfully the Norwegian was staring up at the ceiling so he didn’t see their quick exchange. The both of them were still uncertain about letting Tord walk around town on his own, especially after the incident two days ago.

Tord didn’t seem _too_ troubled, so maybe it was okay.

Right?

“Oh! By the way” Tord’s voice snapped the both of them back to attention, the Norwegian leaned against the table “Have you found out anything about my client Paul? You haven’t been updating me about that”

“Huh? Oh! Right yeah the client…” Paul cleared his throat, evidently caught off guard by Tord’s question “Well, y’see there’s a reason why I haven’t exactly told you anything. Unsurprisingly, the guy was using a pseudo email, or a separate business one, I looked around and most of the dealings he used on that email were more or less normal transactions” He shrugged at him with a frown “None of the stuff there seemed personal but I’m still trying, there are other things I haven’t really tried yet after all”

“So, what about his other dealings? Are they shady??”

“Ehm, no, some of them are pretty dorky. Flower hats, sunglasses, most stuff that’ll make you think he lives in the tropics or something” Paul scratched the bottom of his chin where some stubble was starting to grow “This doesn’t mean he couldn’t be dangerous though, so just be on guard if he tries to call you again” 

“Yeah and this time, if it’s alright, let us know ‘kay?” 

“Mmh” Tord replied with a single nod of the head, nibbling down on another one of the drippy pancakes. 

Patryck turned back to his own food, not without sharing one last look with Paul.

That’ll be good enough for now.

 

* * *

 

 

After Paul and Patryck respectfully left the house to work their jobs, Tord was the one who’d been stuck with dish duty before he himself would go out. He took his time cleaning up their mess then later went back upstairs to grab his old black coat, the one he had forgotten to bring back home the last time he spent a night at his friends’ place. At some point, the coat had long since made a home for itself in his friends’ guest bedroom closet, for some reason never really coming back home with Tord. They didn’t mind.

Tord stepped out of the house and locked the door behind him, the duplicate key that Paul gave him a long time ago was pushed snug inside his wallet.

Walking down the street was nearly automatic for Tord, he didn’t really have to think much about where he was going, usually he left that to muscle memory. Since he’d always have his mind on other things, concentrating on where he was going was never on top of his priorities, it mostly led to accidental collisions and snide remarks for carelessness but he’d learned to take those in stride. 

He soon found himself melding into the busier parts of town, ones where most of the people converged in to get through their daily grind. He passed by a multitude of shops and recreational centres, but as usual Tord didn’t pay much of them mind, the same way the townspeople paid _him_ no mind. The moment they catch sight of him, they immediately part a way, as if afraid to touch him. It left this odd circular space around Tord as he walked, as though he were a drop of oil in a bucket of water.

The town of St. Stina was where Tord grew up in but it never really felt like home. According to his mother, their family lived in this mountain range town for many many years. Mrs. Larsin was actually the first of her family to move away from St. Stina when she was younger, along with her parents. It wasn’t as though they weren’t allowed to leave, no, the Larsins were just ‘needed’ in St. Stina, for a reason that Tord’s mother never actually cared to clarify. 

In fact, Mrs. Larsin seemed adamant about hiding their family history from him. Sure, she carried on the tradition of teaching him how to use his ‘talent’ but anything beyond that was never taught.

He once asked her for the reason why she left town in the first place, and why she decided to come back.

Mrs. Larsin would only smile, and that was that.

Tord knew, even when he was just a child, that his mother didn’t want to come back to St. Stina. When she moved away it was almost inevitable. 

Now he was the last Larsin left in this town his family once called home. 

St. Stina wasn’t his home.

Something just kept him here, _pulled_ him back. Now that feeling was stronger than ever, and it started when he finally went up to the old church on the hill for the first time.

He needed to know why.

The town was quick to disappear behind him as the road beneath his feet began to crack and break off into the soil. The cold fog of the morning had yet to leave, it swirled around the Norwegian as he made his way to the base of a very familiar hill, never minding the way the fog engulfed the path he came from behind him, temporarily shutting him away from a world he knew.

Soon it was just the rustling of the leaves that kept him company on his hike up the hill. 

The same feeling of mild suffocation constricted Tord’s throat as he stepped into the threshold of the old church’s area. If he could explain it in some sort of way, he could say it was like someone draped a blanket over him, and that blanket wound tighter and tighter around him the closer he got to the graveyard gates.

He felt out of breath by the time he reached the gates, even if he hadn’t expended much energy getting there.

Tord stared at the foggy graveyard, watching for anything that moved. 

The hollow sound of the stale silence greeted him like an old friend.

Tord clenched his hands at his sides restlessly “Hey!” He called out, stepping closer to the gates. He knew he hadn’t been back here for a few days now, but the atmosphere shouldn’t have changed this much right? It almost felt just like it did the first time he came here, the air was definitely heavier, unlike when he had spent time fixing Christopher’s grave.

…did it not want him here?

“You haven’t forgotten me have you?” Tord stopped just one step away from the gate as he glanced around the graveyard behind it “I know I haven’t been back for a while, I ran into some trouble is all” The air continued to press down on him, Tord frowned at the feeling “Hey, what’s wrong? Are you avoiding me now?” His hand closed around a bar on the gate.

A silhouette flashed through the fog.

Tord’s heart jumped at the sight, he quickly let go of the bar after a sickening feeling wound around his chest. His eyes widened as he stepped back, staring intensely at the thick fog that curled around the graveyard. His head started to feel light and it was only then that Tord realized he was hyperventilating.

Tord’s vision swam, he doubled over and began to gag. He held his throat when it started to feel like it was burning from all his coughing. The Norwegian supported himself on his knees as he slowly lifted his head up.

Two black voids on a pale white face stared back at him.

Tord felt his heart stop.

He couldn’t breathe.

His lungs burned in his chest, like acid was eating through them.

His throat closed up and his hands were completely numb.

_He couldn’t look away._

The two of them stared at each other in silence.

Then it was gone. Leaving a ghastly after image of itself burned through Tord’s retinas.

Tord gasped, immediately falling backwards as though invisible strings that held him up were cut. The Norwegian sucked in deep breaths of air while he tried to calm his suddenly fast beating heart. He choked on his own breath as he continued to stare at the space where the unnaturally pale face had suddenly appeared through the fog.

On the ground, the gate looked higher than it actually was.

Tord heard something snap behind him.

The Norwegian refused to look to where the sound came from, his eyes were glued to the spot where he’d been inches away from the apparition within the graveyard.

Two empty black voids.

He saw something there.

Tord forced his uncooperative limbs to function again, they felt too stiff and he had to concentrate very hard to even get one of them to move properly. His own body felt awkward, as if he was an intruder within his own skin, unfamiliar with the mechanics of his movements, like he’d forgotten how to be himself.

But it only lasted for a moment.

Tord marched up to the gate, disregarding how his heart leapt to his throat as he pried the gate open, it screeched loud while he pushed himself through “I know the deal was that I was only going to fix Christopher’s grave” Tord found his voice again but winced at the way it cracked at the start, he hoped the spirit wouldn’t take it as a weakness. It was harder to see what was around him today, the fog obscured most of his line of sight “But I want to make a wager!”

The fog around him suddenly swirled before it settled calmly.

The spirit was interested.

Good.

Tord swallowed his fears.

“I know what you are, you’re this church’s grim” He heard the sound of footsteps walking through the grass, due to the fog however Tord couldn’t see where the spirit was, and the sound surrounded him on all sides, making the exact location of his current companion impossible to pin down “According to the myths, you’re either the spirit of an animal who was slaughtered as sacrifice” The slow footsteps turned into running, it grew louder by the second. Tord saw a black silhouette quickly coming towards him from a distance at an almost inhuman speed “Or you’re the soul of the first person who was buried here!”

The Norwegian quickly shut his eyes when he saw the silhouette reach out a hand, he felt a gust of wind whip past him. When he opened his eyes again the shadow was gone, he sighed out a shuddering breath.

That response to his guesses was enough of a tell for him. This Church Grim was human.

That alone implied so many awful things that Tord didn’t want to think about yet. 

“Church Grim, this is my wager so listen closely!” Nothing came to dissuade him, there were no running silhouettes, no crushing pressure on his chest, no pulsing chills running down his back.

It was waiting.

“I will return to the graveyard on my own for the rest of the foreseeable future, but I will only do so to create a list of names of the people buried there, once I’ve finished I will guess which of them was who _you_ were before you died”

Tord felt something brush against his hand, it was like ice had run down his fingertips, the gesture almost felt…amused. Nevertheless, he continued “The wager is this: If I guess who you are correctly then I must ask you to tell me about the truth of this place and how it’s come to be like this….but if I guess wrong…” The words caught at the back of his throat, Tord gritted his teeth.

He was going to break the number one rule everyone in his family told him to never break.

A Larsin was what stood between the living and the dead in this town.

They were the perfect anchors.

“…..you have my permission to use my soul as a permanent gate to protect your church. Do we have a deal?”

The wind suddenly howled and began to swirl violently around him. Tord shut his eyes and held on to the sides of his coat to keep it from flying too wildly. 

Then the world stood still.

_‘Deal’_

When Tord opened his eyes, he was standing at the foot of the hill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In between writing chapters of Regimen, this is actually the last pre-written one. With that fic being my priority this could also take a while :PPP
> 
> Wanna ask me something? Sometimes get a life update to know why I’m taking long?? Here have my slightly inactive tumblr: kingtrash-dan@tumblr.com


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